The dim haze of a dusty sun illuminated the land as the heat beat down upon my brow. Clinking metal and the stamping of boots were a constant companion as I strode forth upon a landscape that had all life stripped from it. At one time, these plains were filled with grass, bushes, and splashes of color from the many flowers that once bloomed unmolested. But now, parched earth that had cracked from a severe lack of moisture spread as far as the eye could see. Behind me marched a grim-faced army that made no sound other than that of marching. An army comprised of the battered but not broken remnants of our land, Chiros. Humans, Beastkin, Goblins, and Dwarves all marched shoulder the shoulder in unity that, before these dark days, had been unimaginable. These soldiers, these heroes, were the remnants of the once proud nations that ruled these lands. They were the ones who stood between this world’s destruction at the hands of the Daharillm, invaders from another realm. The Daharillm had destroyed everything in their path of total conquest and their ravenous nature had scourged these once-green lands.

The rumbling of our footsteps echoed off the dusty land as we marched across what had once been the Kingdom of Tigleon. Our silence was bred from the acceptance of our impending demise. We knew that we may die, yet we marched on anyway. It was the only way to ensure the future of our world. Ever since the emergence of The Rift, not a soul had had a restful sleep within our lands. So dire was the invasion of these strange monsters that had wiped out entire kingdoms in rapid succession.

This was our final stand, our final stab at the darkness. I wiped at my face, brushing away the sweat that beaded from the merciless sun. The metal rings of my armor that had once shone brilliantly had been stained a light brown by the dust that constantly blew with the wind. Dark clouds swirled in a circle through the sky, like an obsidian vortex that could usher forth a devastating cyclone at any moment. At the center of this phenomenon would be the Rift. Lightning crackled to the east, surging from the ground up towards the sky as if to defy all sense. We were close.

“Nervous Commander?” A broad-shouldered man with the head of a falcon spoke beside me. He wore leather armor riddled with holes that had been hastily patched. His eyes at first glance appeared sharp and alert. But if you looked closely, you could feel his exhaustion. The same exhaustion we all felt. Dirt marred his feathered head. Two eagle-like wings grew from the soldier’s back. One was bent at a slightly odd angle. He hissed in pain through his beak as he attempted to stretch them.

“Don’t push yourself Hallock.” I warned, but he rolled his eyes.

“We all need to push ourselves this time Commander.”

“I still say you should have stayed behind in Ullond.” Hallock growled at my comment.

“What? And miss all the fun? I’ll not let them say that the last Sashomyrr hid away from the final battle due to a broken wing!” He boasted and beat his chest. Neither of us knew if he truly was the last of the winged Beastkin, but none refuted him his boast. Hallock looked to me with a grin, “When we’re finished here lets have a duel. Just you and me, like old times.”

I smiled, “Yeah, sure Hallock. I’ll kick your ass just like every other time.” Behind us rumbled gravel-like chuckles. Distractions like these helped cast aside the constant feeling of doom as we marched to our fates. “There it is, the Rift.” I pointed as we crested a hill not two miles west of the ruins of a town, the remains of which still stood like the bones of a long dead animal. Not a stone’s throw away was our goal, a massive rip in the fabric of the world. Small, gray-skinned figures scurried about in the ruins of the town, forming into a mass of bodies that faced us. Closer to the Rift, an even larger group was forming up to charge towards us in a wave.

“The sheer power…” A robed girl, no older than fifteen, with long blue hair gasped as she stared with wide gray eyes at the Rift.

“Cyrene.” I spoke to draw her attention and smiled, “Focus.”

“Y-yes. Sorry Commander.” She bowed her head and returned to staring at the wound in our world. Out of all of the magi that survived our march, she was the most powerful. As such, she was to be the focal point of the ritual to close the Rift. Protecting those Magi was our utmost priority, even at the cost of our very lives.

“We’ll get through this.” I assured the Magi that looked at me nervously. There were only twenty of them left after all our battles with the Daharillm. We had left Cassantium with over two hundred. The eldest of the magi had privately warned me that they may not be enough to close the Rift, but we continued anyway. To turn back after all the sacrifices we had made would be to consign ourselves to death. I clenched my fist over the pommel of my sword that hung snugly at my side in an attempt to hide the shaking of my hands. I looked back towards the army…my army. Even after all this time, it still felt weird to call it that.

Scores and scores of men and women of all races looked back at me expectantly. We were not ready for this. I was not ready for this. Yet we would stand all the same.

One of our battles marching towards the Rift had claimed the life of our previous Commander, Massawe Edwirs Bastolfyr. A wolf type Beastkin with an unnatural cunning that had helped hold the Empire of Cassantium together when they stood alone against the Daharillm. He was a legend in the army, and losing him had nearly cost us everything. But thanks to Hallock, myself, and our many subordinates, the army held together just enough to beat the Daharillm. As we stood atop the hill overlooking the ruins of what may have once a peaceful farming village, I could feel the weight of the entire world upon my shoulders. The far off army of gray-skinned invaders began to rush towards us. It was time.

Gods I hated public speaking.

“Nervous Commander?” Hallock repeated his initial question and smirked as he stared towards The Rift.

“Nah, just hungry. Daemon-spewing portals always bring out the glutton in me.” Everyone within earshot shared a chuckle.

“Then hurry up and eat that damn thing so we can all go home!” A soldier shouted from behind, followed by a chorus of cheers.

“Hey, I brought you lot along because I thought you’d want a piece for yourselves! Edwirs always claimed I was the caring type after all!” I shouted back which only made the men laugh more. Backs straightened as the men laughed. Humans joked with Beastkin, while Goblins stood shoulder to shoulder with Dwarves, each boasting of the trophies they’d be taking home.

“Good on you Commander.” Hallock whispered. “Poor bastards haven’t had much hope these past few…”

“Months?” I finished for Hallock and lightly punched his shoulder. “We’re all the hope the world needs.” I pointed towards the army arrayed against us. “Look, they’re practically pissing themselves at our arrival!” I laughed. The men followed, shouting obscenities at our foes.

“Pikes forward! Double Wall Formation!” I yelled atop my lungs. The army that had marched in a column behind me rapidly spread out into two horizontal lines. At the center of the front line was our heaviest infantry. Beastkin, Dwarves, and Humans in multiple layers of leather, chain, and plate armor wielding deadly pikes and durable war-picks. At the flanks stood forces wielding axes, maces, and swords in their chain mail attire. The second line was comprised of everyone else who wore lighter leather. Those in the second line wielded both bow and blade. Their goal would be to pelt the enemy for as long as they could and would stay close to the Magi should they require support.

My greatest regret is that we had no cavalry to speak of. Horses had always been focused by the enemy in every battle. They hated the mobility and power that a unit of heavy cavalry could bring to bare. I gave a silent prayer to Sorris, the Goddess of Chrios, for victory. But of course, nothing happened. Still, it never hurt to ask for divine intervention at every moment. Who knows, perhaps this time she’d come down and win the war for us.

As the men finished their formation I strode purposefully before them with a serious look upon my face. Hallock strode along at my side, glaring at everyone arrayed before us in an attempt to show that he was far more fearsome than our foes. I’d like to think it worked.

“We’ve been marching a long time!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. The men whispered my words down the line so that all would hear what I said even if my voice didn’t reach them. “And still we cannot rest! The Rift, the source of these demons, is before us! Every moment we wait is another moment more of those bastards break through!” I stabbed my sword into the parched earth beneath my feet. “No more!”

“No more shall we let these bastards blight our lands! No more shall we live in fear of the next onslaught! On this day, we put a stop to the Daharillm! My brothers and sisters in arms, when this day is done we will return to our homes as heroes!” I paused for a moment, “No. Not heroes. Legends! Our names shall be sung from coast to coast for the rest of eternity! Stories shall be spun that live through the centuries so that those that come long after we are gone will know! We stood upon this very ground and refused to yield!”

Roars of approval surged higher than the loudest crack of lightning. The sound of blades clashing against shields in rhythm thundered across the land. The quaking sound of marching in the distance reached my ears. I turned my head to regard the small force from the town ruins charging towards us. The ocean of bodies that surged from the Rift followed far behind.

I drew my blade from the earth and pointed it towards the enemy. “Let them come! We are the wall that will break this dark tide! We are the ones that will usher in a new dawn for all races of Chiros!” My roar joined the army’s as we charged down the hill to meet the enemy in combat.

Clashing steel sung in my ears as my blade clashed against blackened metal, parrying a thrust aimed towards my chest. I paid the enemy little mind as I rebuked his blow and cut off his arm, a shrill cry cut short as my blade sunk into it’s neck. At this time the Magi would have stayed atop the hill just behind the second line and began their ritual. I hoped against hope that those twenty would be enough to close the Rift. We had our objective, they had theirs. All we could do was hold the line. The sweet sound of twanging bowstrings and the whistling of arrows overhead spoke of the second line beginning to fire their ammunition. Once their arrows were spent they’d draw their blades and form a circle around the Magi.

Arrows sunk into the armor of the oncoming horde of Lisek, the weakest type of Daharillm that many referred to as ‘Swarmers’. These small Daharillm stood no taller than the average goblin. Their chitinous armor was all the protection they relied upon, for they carried no shields. Weaponry wise, they favored scythe-like swords and hooked spears. Most would consider it a stroke of luck that we only faced Swarmers here, but I knew better. In the shadow of The Rift, the more monstrous of invaders would certainly come to end our assault quickly.

As is, what we were fighting were no better than a mob of well-equipped peasants.

After the third volley of arrows had cut a swathe through the enemy ranks, the rain of arrows ceased. My heart pounded constantly as the rush of adrenaline surged in my veins. Time itself seemed to slow as I my blade met tender flesh, tearing limbs from their owners. A Swarmer cried out in his harsh tongue as my blade chewed through his right arm. Their armor, more accurately described as carapace, was thickest around the chest, legs, and head. Their elbows, wrists, knees, shins, and armpits were where their protection was weakest to provide flexibility. Over multiple battles, I had developed the muscle memory of where exactly to strike the Daharillm. As my foe clutched at his stumped arm, I pierced his neck with a quick stab and moved onto the next target.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Screams cried hauntingly all along the line as soldiers from all walks of life died in the faith that we would be victorious this day. I stepped forward towards another swarmer and separated his head from his shoulders in a single sweep. My blade sung as I fell into a battle trance, focused entirely on eliminating as many of the enemy as possible. Minutes felt like hours as I cut through countless foes. Step left, upward swing, thrust, step back. The pulse of battle throbbed echoed within as I tore through any enemy that rushed towards me.

Parry, counter, dodge, kill. Every movement another step towards sending the enemy to their end. My chest felt heavy as I sucked in air any moment I could spare. A hand pounded twice on my shoulder in rapid succession from behind me. The signal to rest. I nodded gratefully and moved behind the soldier. It was time for me to get a breather and the man behind me would my place in the line.

Battle was far more than a quick dealing of death. They were long, drawn-out things that could last for hours at a time. Massawe had always said, the first man to tire is the first man slain. Twenty minute rotations were drilled into us from the moment we joined his forces. Gods bless that man, wherever his soul may be.

I took a quick breath and surveyed they situation as I retreated to safety behind the line of heavy infantry. We were holding well, despite the oncoming surge of Swarmer reinforcements. In our constant struggle, we had become a well-oiled war machine. But there were just so many of them. Like an ocean of darkness spread out before us that threatened to drown the world, they poured constantly from The Rift. I washed my face with water from the bladder that hung at my side. A few more minutes of rest and I’d be back into the fight.

The ground rumbled violently as the Rift churned. Hellfire spewed from within the Rift as a large amount of flying creatures broke through the portal that merged our worlds. Gazaks they were named, but we coined them simply ‘Fliers’. They were similar in stature to the Goblin-esque Lisek, but with longer arms and less chitinous armor. They also had four dragon-fly style wings protruding from their backs that buzzed maddeningly. Shrill screeching soon covered the battlefield as they swarmed overhead, throwing short spears into the mass of my army before descending with long arms and sharp claws.

“Drown them in iron!” Hallock cried out far behind me as he managed the second line. The snapping of bowstrings soon followed, countering the incessant buzzing of wings. The storm of arrows sent multitudes of Fliers falling rapidly to their deaths, taking Swarmers with them as they fell upon their own forces. Clouds of Fliers tried to flee from the feathered death, but to no avail. With each volley, large amounts of them were struck from the skies. I grinned as I cleaved a Flier’s head from its shoulders when it dove directly towards me with outstretched claws. I could feel my comrade’s eyes on my back as I moved to intercept the next dive-bombing Flier. They preferred to attack lone targets rather than grouped up forces.

Once more, the Rift churned violently. But this time, grand figures clad in obsidian-like armor charged out from the portal riding large mounts that resembled scarabs. These would be the Shrask, or Brutes as we called them. They were the deadliest of the Daharillm’s forces throughout the war. Even as they thundered across the dry ground, smashing through their own forces to get at our own, I couldn’t help but feel a the touch of terror grip my heart. Whenever the going got tough, the Brutes were sure to be where the fighting was thickest. Inhuman cries uttered from their gullets as they brandished their weapons as they drew ever nearer.

“Pikes up men!” A heavily armored Grundomyrr, or bear-kin, called out as the mounted Brutes closed the distance. Men quickly followed suit, stepping back and presenting a firm wall of steel to counter the Brute’s deadly charge. Swarmers threw themselves towards the pikemen in an attempt to disrupt our formation. They found no purchase, only death. Either by being impaled on sharpened steel, or crushed beneath the coming Brutes. But there was one major flaw to our use of pikes versus the enemy’s version of cavalry.

Metal clashed as the Brutes and their mounts smashed into our wall of pointed death. Roars of rage reached the heavens as screams of pain haunted my ears. Pikes punctured through chitinous armor and tore Brutes from their mounts as they suicidally charged our line. But those scarabs that they rode kept charging forward. And their armor was much thicker than the Brutes’. A pike would find no purchase against such beasts, and so we had to ignore the mounts and go for the riders.

Mounts that were now trampling into our line, crushing those in their way.

Sharp cracks like ice crunching underfoot sounded in the air. I gave a silent thanks to the late Massawe in reverence. By his orders we had pike formations mixed with soldiers wielding war-picks. Thus far, it was the best option to counter mounted foes. Pikes to strike at the riders, picks to crack through even a Scarab’s hardened armor. Even in death, his brilliance lived on to see the Daharillm ended. I’d like to think myself a competent commander, but none could compare to Massawe’s mind.

Regrefully, all I could do was watch as men died by the score in face of the Brute’s onslaught. I so desperately wanted to join the fight. Wanted to feel my blade cut through the necks of those that would kill those under my care. But I knew better. So I stood at the back of the front line. Watching. Waiting.

I didn’t have to wait long.

An ungodly sound like that of a massive volcanic eruption cascaded from the direction of The Rift. Moments later the ground began to quake and I felt my footing fail me. For a moment, there was blessed silence on the battlefield, as if both sides had suddenly decided to cease fighting. Even as I pushed myself to my feet, I knew that wouldn’t be true. And yet, as I stood, I found that it was true. The remaining Brutes, Swarmers, and Fliers had retreated from the front line. My muscles tensed as I saw the reason why.

A single Daharillm strode forth from the portal. One that stood taller than even the tallest Brute and twice as wide. In an instant, I knew exactly what was coming. This new monster’s body would be exceedingly bulky, almost entirely of muscle. It’s chitin armor would cover it from head to toe nearly three inches thick. A Bokkul Daharillm. A ‘Breaker’. A single one of those could demolish an entire squad of warriors with ease. With large lumbering steps, it made its way towards us. None dared disturb the silence that had settled upon the battlefield.

With gargantuan hands, the monster cradled a brutal looking maul of what looked to be pure obsidian. Normally, this would have been a Bokkul Daharillm, but it sprouted a set of six dragonfly-esque wings from its back. Wings that, no matter how hard they tried, would never be able to lift their owner. This was a Commander subspecies. Far more intelligent, and therefore, far more deadly. In an effort to steel my resolve, I clenched the pommel of my blade and strode forth. Towards the enemy.

A sea of metal parted before me as the men cleared a path. Only the crackling of magical energy behind us could be heard as I made my solemn march towards destiny. Halfway through the ranks, the sound of metal clashing against metal rung out in ordered intervals. First only a few, but before long a massive chorus joined in as they clashed gauntlets against armor in a drum-like salute. I could feel my pulse echo that of the beat. With a deep breath, I raised my sword. An avalanche of cheers spurred me on, filling my body with their energy, their hope.

Before long, I stood beyond the army and awaited the coming Daharillm. As the Commander approached, the ground trembled with each step. New cracks formed atop the dry landscape as he lumbered towards me, as if he sought to demolish the land itself. When we stood twenty paces apart, he stopped.

“You are the leader?” It questioned, resting its massive maul upon it’s shoulder. I nodded, surprised that one of them could speak. They had never bothered to do so before. A strange gurgling sounded from behind the monster’s chitin helm. It then paused for a moment, as if in contemplation before nodding. “Yes. We see. Your resistance was admirable, but you will all end here.” It pointed towards the hill where the magi were focused on their ritual.

The ridge was covered in Swarmers charging directly for the ritual.

“Second line!” I shouted out of reflex, “Intercept!” But my words fell on deaf ears as the first of the Swarmers reached the Magi, piercing their bodies with wicked blades. Nobody moved as the hill was overrun.

“This is how Chiros fell.” The enemy commander spoke behind me in a far different voice than it had original spoke. An old voice. A tired voice. A female’s voice. “They took us completely by surprise.” it continued. “We had no warning, no forethought to watch the rear. Our eyes focused solely on the Rift. Everything was focused on this final battle. So much so that we forgot one simple rule of battle.”

“Yostul val krassal Tilvols!” One of the few remaining Magi chanted in a booming voice that echoed throughout that battlefield. As the words left his tongue, a massive eruption of blinding magical energy blasted into the sky from where they had stood. A chorus of fearful shouts matched my own from the explosion that knocked me to the ground. Surely, I was not the only to fall from such a shock-wave of energy. Helplessly, I rubbed at my eyes to recover my vision as I rose to my knees. When my vision returned all words left me. The entire hill was gone. No signs of the magi, nor the Daharillm force remained.

“Always assign a watch at the rear.”

Sickening laughter gurgled from behind as the commander’s voice returned to normal. “You, and all who remain in this world, are finished.” Were the last words I heard before a pain erupted in the back of my head, causing me to black out.

The words ‘Congratulations’ appeared in red lettering as I stared into the darkness.

“What?!” I cried out in surprise. This was it? This was the ending to Fall of Chiros? I reached up to the side of my head and pressed the retract button upon my visor. In an instant, the black screen in front of my eyes was sucked into the small metal contraption that surrounded my head like a circlet. Carefully, I detached the visor from the implant in my head and rested it upon the small table next to my bed.

“What the hell was that all about?!” Just as I was about to head over to my computer desk a call alert appeared in the corner of my vision from a number I didn’t recognize. With a mental click, I accepted the call. “Hello?”

“Good afternoon Mr. Turelli,” The voice on the other end began accompanied by the clicking of a keyboard. My body tensed as I recognized her voice. The same voice from in the game. “I hope you’ll excuse me for watching your stream of our product. I also hope you’ll accept my congratulations for being one of the few who have seen the ending to our game.”

“Uhhh thanks.” Our product? It must have been some sort of Chrios Productions representative. “Who am I speaking with exactly?”

“Oh! Please excuse my poor manners. My name is Christine Hordavos.”

“You’re the owner of Chiros productions!” I shouted in surprise. A light chuckle sounded in my head. Thankfully she wasn’t around to see my embarrassment.

“The one and the same.” She paused for a moment as the clicking on her end continued at a rapid pace. “I was wondering, would you be able to do dinner later tonight?”

“Dinner? Tonight?”

“If its a problem, we can always reschedule for another time.”

“Oh! No, its no problem.” I looked at the clock in the corner of my vision. It was currently four after one in the afternoon.

“Excellent!” She cheerfully exclaimed. “How does six thirty sound?”

“Sounds good.” I responded. “Hey wait, this isn’t exactly a local meet-up! Isn’t your headquarters in Montreal? I don’t think I’d be able to drive that far that fast without getting a ticket or ten.”

“No worries deary.” The woman laughed. “I’ve already dispatched an air-shuttle to your home. It’ll be there at around two thirty, so strap in around five-ish and we’ll be golden.”

“Alright then, I’ll be there.” Christine chuckled,

“I’m sure we’ll have much to discuss. See you then!”

With an audible click, the call ended. Thoughts began racing through my head like a stampede of cattle. Was I really going to meet the reclusive Christine Hordavos? What was I going to wear? But above all, what the hell was that ending? Regardless, I quickly sat at my computer desk to check in with the people who watched my stream of the game’s ending to see what they thought of it. But as soon as I sat down at my desk, a ‘Connection Reestablished’ alert popped up on my screen.

“What the…” With quick fingers I checked my Internet connection history. “Impossible…” The world had long since created a world-spanning connection to the net. It was almost impossible to lose a connection anywhere in the world. And yet, somehow, ten minutes ago my connection had been cut. Spinning some quick math around in my head to account for the accelerated time distortion of Virtual Reality gaming, I came to a conclusion that sent shivers down my spine.

The connection was cut moments before the enemy commander emerged from the Rift. And it had only just been reestablished.

“What the hell…” Much to discuss indeed. But before that, I needed to find something to wear, shave, and shower.