Hidden behind the dunes, a distance away from the high frontier wall, was a large tent made of thick leather standing next to an oasis. Unlike the lush beauty that could be found on the inner side of the Great Barrier, this fountain of life within this parched desert seemed rather desolate.
There was no blue crystalline liquid, only the remnants of a dark grey substance spewing from the earth. Yet it was this corruption that allowed life to sprout in this bleak land. Without its intervention, the spark of life would have long fizzled away into obscurity.
From the confines of this haven of leather stood a man. His skin was as dark as the earth as if he had been born from it, yet in truth, he had only been scorched by the restless sun for eons. His chest was bare, showing countless dark grey markings, pulsing with foreign energy. Their designs were unlike what the people of this world had ever known, almost completely foreign yet possessing their own meanings.
His muscles were firm yet not overwhelming. They seemed the perfect size to allow maximum force but also flexibility. They seemed almost perfect in their design. On his head was short grey hair, yet his face showed no signs of aging. He couldn't be more than thirty years old. Despite it all, he carried himself with a maturity scarcely found in men of his age, almost as if his boundless experience couldn't be hidden. His dark grey eyes also told such stories.
“Commander!”
A man barged into the tent uninvited. However, the man within only rose from the pieces of leather scattered upon a large table made of chiselled bones, intricately laced into each other, enabling it to support a substantial weight.
There was dark lettering on the large sheets of leather parchment, closely resembling the markings of their own bodies, except that the ink used to write upon them was black as night, contrasting well with the pale skins. As for the meaning of the words, none but those who lived at the world's end were privy to their secrets.
“Lieutenant,” the commander replied, his gaze rising slightly as he surveyed the mountain of a man that stood before him.
Unlike his own physique, carefully sculpted to achieve perfection of movement, the man before him had opted for a more brute-force approach. His large muscles bulged from his body, making him look like a large, hairless tiger. He even possessed markings resembling the stripes theirs possessed. The marking scarcely resembled the commander's own, and the meaning seemed different, yet the power emanating from within seemed to come from the same source.
“I believe I asked to be left alone until preparations for war were nearly complete,” the smaller man added before returning back to the document he poured over. “If it isn’t urgent, then leave.”
The only way to describe the language they spoke would be foreign. They didn’t even use the standard alphabet, opting for a more primal form of communication, which couldn’t help but sound like grunts to the uninitiated, leading to their classification as barbarians by those on the other side of the Great Barrier.
They failed to realize that the sounds themselves were irrelevant; only the meaning mattered. Still, only those who had lived their whole lives in this harsh environment could even comprehend such a thing. One had to be immersed in it to comprehend this language's intricacies.
“A message from the High Priest!" the large man replied, putting a fist on his heart and thumping it against his chest. Despite the difference in size, the lieutenant only felt reverence for the smaller man before him and also a slight trace of dread. Even if his hand was large enough to cover the entirety of the commander’s head, such a ridiculous thought never crossed his mind. He only remained silent, watching the man raise his head once again.
“Was there a new oracle?” the commander replied. “I thought the plan was foolproof... We already invested too much into it to change it now.”
“I'm unaware of the details," the large man replied, beads of sweat dripping on his exposed bronze skin. Despite the almost overwhelming heat, the temperature dropped almost as if an ice age had arrived—even if he didn't know what an ice age was. He felt a chill creep up his spine as a primal fear overwhelmed him. He could only remain fixed in place, patiently waiting for winter to recede.
The smaller man’s gaze rested on him. He would have much preferred to be in the thick of battle where life and death intertwined than to be made to suffer this man’s gaze for but a moment longer. He held his breath and tensed his muscles, yet it could only barely stop the tremors of his body from surfacing.
Seeing the lieutenant's fragile state of mind, the commander sighed before turning his back to him, which offered him solace. The large man could only barely refrain from collapsing in place, his muscles sore despite their lack of movements.
“Out with it. What does the old geezer want from me?" the commander asked, prompting another shiver to assault the large man's body. He almost felt his spirit collapse, but a slight hint of anger flashed in his mind, yet the fear quickly overwhelmed the rage. He took a deep breath and braced himself.
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“He wants the attack to start without delay," the large man replied with a quiver in his tone. His struggles were all too apparent, yet the commander ignored them. In fact, the messenger's state was inconsequential compared to the message he bore.
The commander couldn't help but show a trace of genuine anger. His features twisted slightly after hearing those words, and a slight trace of murderous intent permeated the leather tent, spilling from its bounds into the camp beyond. This even prompted some of the warriors staying nearby to recoil in fright as they raised their weapons toward the man they called their leader. Their survival instinct took over as it screamed that their only chance to prevail was to take up arms.
They wielded spears made of bones that looked too fragile to be used in any practical conflict. Still, in all of their long history, such weapons had always been a staple of their armament. Through eons, they had waged war using those, and they had yet to fall behind those on the other side of the Great Barrier despite the artifact they liked to use. If anything, their weapons possessed a slight advantage.
“Why now?!” the commander exclaimed as he slammed his fist onto the bone table, shattering it into countless bleached pieces that fell to the ground. His loud voice spread into the surroundings, breaking the silence of this windless day. The men jolted to attention, fear sprouting in their hearts. The large man held himself back through sheer force of will, yet his gaze was lowered, unable to even look at his commander anymore.
“How can he not know how much is riding on this?" the man added, calming down only slightly. "Does he think of war as a mere game one can start and end at one's leisure? What about the countless sacrifices the tribes made until now, only so we might finally have a chance to escape beyond this desolate landscape? Would he have us throw it all away before we were fully ready? Who does he think he is?"
“This is God's will," the large man added. His voice wasn't loud, yet it cut through his commander's outburst, prompting him into silence.
The commander looked upon his subordinate, his gaze piercing into his soul, yet the large man held his ground, his conviction firm. Silence reigned as everyone held their breaths, unable to determine their commander's state of mind. He only showed a mask devoid of emotion; his eyes were glacially cold, yet they exuded a terrifying fighting spirit.
Without a word, the commander walked forward, past the large man and exited the tent, only to be faced by the harsh light of the sun glistening on his bronze skin. The grey markings displayed prominently as they seemed to absorb the light. The tension crumbled from the commander's absence, prompting the large man to collapse on the ground in a puddle of his own sweat; his duty was achieved, the message relayed.
“Gather the men!" the commander barked. "The time has come! It may be sooner than expected, but the oppressor will finally feel our reckoning. We may die on this day, but know this! Our sacrifice will spell a better life for our family. Do not falter, for this is God's Will. He is always here with us!"
He pressed his fist against his chest, and the grey markings pulsed briefly before dimming. The men reciprocated the gesture, and their own markings did the same before they scurried away, carrying out their own duties.
A slight tension hung over the camp as the men hastily put on armour of bone and leather. A stench of death and decay assaulted the commander as he looked toward the east where the Great Barrier of Sand stood, the only obstacle barring their path toward verdant lands. The scent was but a communal memory etched into their very beings. Slaughter was all they knew. Only through massacre could they ensure their own survival. As such, they showed no remorse for their deed, nor mercy.
******
Less than half a day later, bronze-skinned men spilled onto the dunes facing the frontier. At the front stood worm-like beings, restlessly waiting as men stood on their backs, hooks digging into their sides, allowing the men to direct their courses and prompting them into obedience.
However, unlike the sand-coloured sandworms Qin Yun had encountered on the other side of the barrier, these were almost completely grey and sported the same grey markings as the men who stood upon them.
Slightly behind them was a sea of camels awaiting in a scattered formation upon the dune. They, too, were mounted by the bronze-skinned men. However, unlike their worm-like counterparts, their riders wielded bows made of bones and tendons while fielding arrows of the same material. Despite their seemingly brittle appearances, the edges of those points were sharper than obsidian.
Behind them were countless hordes of men on foot, wielding armours of leather and bones. Some even chose not to wear any protection, instead letting their skin bare to the elements. Still, their markings pulsed alongside their breathing, spewing waves of power that threatened to overwhelm the battlefield.
Their weapons were crude, mostly made of bones, ranging from swords to spears. Some even tried to wield clubs or maces instead of weapons with sharp edges. However, they all had one thing in common. Countless grooves were etched onto their surface, allowing the power of their markings to flow onto them, empowering them with the strength they possessed, and allowing them to contend against the oppressors’ own weaponry.
“Brace yourselves!" the commander said as he stood at the front, on the back of his very own mount, a large grey scarab that even towered above the camels. Even the sandworms couldn't hold a candle to this mount's ferocity. Its two large mandibles clashed against each other as they opened and closed, producing a sharp grinding sound that brought fear into all who heard it. It was even reflected onto the sand dunes, propagating to the city, drowning the ants on its wall with restlessness.
"After millennia of oppression, our God has seen fit to offer us a chance to avenge our ancestors and carve an existence for ourselves away from this harsh land!" the commander barked as he raised his own sword.
It was made of bones, like all the others, yet its edge was black and seemed much sharper than the rest. The intent of slaughter was thick and restless, awaiting the incoming confrontation.
“For too long, we waited for this moment, but enough!" the man added as all others looked toward him. There was no hesitation in his gaze, only a firm resolve. "The time has finally come! Cast away your hopes of emerging alive from all this! Plunge yourself into the madness of carnage! You will bleed, and you will perish on this day. There is no salvation for any of us, but know this! Your sacrifices will bring about a new era! An era where none of our children have to starve, where none have to struggle to even survive..."
The man then pointed his sword toward the wall in the distance.
“Beyond there lies our paradise, our promised land!" he added. "They seek to keep us from it, only to watch us slip into oblivion... Enough, I say! Enough of their tyranny! It is time we take our destiny into our own hands. Our God may have shown us the way, but it is up to us to seize it, and seize it we will! Even at the cost of our lives! Are you with me?!"
The men all raised their weapons in unison, their cries drowning out the land, even reaching the wall in the distance, making them tremble in fear. It was a torrent of emotions, an unstoppable flood, all directed toward a single objective. The outsiders' fear had vanished; only the embrace of death remained. With unshakable resolve, they stared death in the face, witnessing their own doom with a slight smile on their faces.
The man returned that smile, feeling proud of the men and women he represented. He turned his mount toward the wall, feeling a slight exhilaration in his heart as he raised his weapon again before letting it fall once more.
“Charge!!!" he screamed as he spurred his mount forward.