The basin of the water clock slowly filled, Aki concentrated on the patter counting glumly another hour. There was naught to do but wait, he consoled himself. The incident at the gate had spread through the camp as a wild fire, and now tent poles and fabric had been pilfered to erect protective wards throughout the camp like a forest of white fabric and black markings. The men too wore white bands around their biceps with much the same wards. There was as yet no murmur of dissent, no talk of retreat – just superstitious defence against a preternatural foe. That was a small mercy. In another hour the first of the companies would march. If small teams of scouts were prey, he would conduct reconnaissance in force. He prayed for some minor victory, the men would need assurance that this was not a lost cause. He had instructed his officers to march in tight blocks of ranks, not the typical column, and to always remain within sight of each other, at such a distance that good ground could be scoured, but not so far that any one company of men would be without support if they were beset. These leaders were also aware of the gambit prepared in camp, and if possible, if attacked, if pressed too hard, were to conduct a fighting retreat inside the gate, and then to disperse to either side and allow the cannon to do their deadly work. When they made contact, they were to launch the fireworks.

First the white, to signal the battle had begun and alert the more distant companies.

Then if the action was favourable, green. If it were poorly, red.

If the red, they would be falling back and Aki himself would prepare to meet whatever came.

All told only five hundred men were being sent out, roughly twelve-hundred men at arms would remain in garrison, with an additional few hundred non combatants that would muster if the need arose. Though, truth told, if that need did indeed arise, the day was already lost. The expedition would be abandoned.

Nothing to do but wait. At last the appointed hour. Drums three times the size of men thrummed, the sound of five hundred sandals in step. Aki left his tent, watched the three columns depart the gate, fan themselves out into orderly blocks once outside, and then to head off towards that distant mountain range, steadily peeling away from each other. He watched until they were so far out they resembled game pieces, the thought of which made his stomach curdle. He muttered another silent prayer that these were not sacrificial pieces. It was necessary, sometimes, in war, to make such a callous tally – these four hundred to tie up your thousand, a rear guard to protect a retreat that knew surrender meant death as surely as standing and fighting – it was the kind of sacrifice Aki had made too many times to count during the unification wars.

Here again doubt gnawing through his guts as a rat. He closed his eyes, sought this vermin and crushed it inside of himself, envisioning it just thus – a small and scared creature, caught in his palm and choked. When he opened his eyes he was sure again. Those marching now out of sight had water and food enough for two days, they would keep a slow pace, and they would be ready to meet whatever threat.

He was exhausted. He would turn in.

**

“SiT,” the slender giant gestured a pale hand with seven fingers. It was hunched over a table, head nearly colliding with the vaulted ceiling of Aki's Palace chambers. Outside the window the cosmos swirled and glowed brighter than ever before. The General shivered, instinct urged him to reach for his sword, it was not there, he trembled now.

The giant had a head like an egg, and it was smooth with no nose, no mouth, no eyes. It cocked slightly, leaned fore ward so as to be inches from Aki's sweating brow.

His sword appeared now, in his white knuckled fist.

“yOu Feel naked without itt, you are fear and and anger and more. Do not fight, letme iN.”

Aki felt that same probing as when he had first entered the gate. Instinct, a life of combat and struggle overcame his terror, turned it into rage. He thrust. The blade went into the things oval head without resistance all the way to the hilt, and then the blade broke, fell through the thing as though it were not there, clattering harmlessly on the rich tile floor – it disappeared, the hilt that had felt so real in his hand was gone. It left no mark. The thing didn't flinch. It moved back slowly. It's knees came up to its concave chest that did not move with breath.

“Sit, trY talk mmAKE soRRy” it said, inside of Aki's skull. He fought. Lashed out snarling with an awkward kick, stumbled with his bad leg. He blinked as his face was about to collide with the floor. He was sitting across from It, stunned. He tried to will himself up, to continue to fight, but was stuck there in the chair, and his head was throbbing. He ground his teeth so hard they bled.

“The thing from the cave,” Aki grunted, still tense, still straining every muscle against this paralysis. It wasn't fear that kept him glued, it would never be fear. “My enemy.”

It sat still a long while. Nodded. Paused, cocked its head as if in thought, and then shook it. “I aM leaRNing still. But I am, enemy no. MaybE. such fear, you would cut and CUT and cut eveRytHinG away.” It shuddered, and the room was filled with the sound of children crying.

Aki's swallowed hard, continued to snarl and strain himself. It was not fear.

“I feAR too AlWAYS with YoU. I WAKE time inTO FEAR. No DiffeRent you. wANT.” It reached out, Aki could not feel his limbs, could not compel them to lash out or to flee or to do anything at all. He stared defiant, still struggling against this unseen force. The things hand paused, it's head jerked up and away. “talK NOT FIGHT.” It began to thrash, clawed at it's own head. Screamed.

Aki woke gritting his teeth with a pulse as though he had just fought a day long battle. He sputtered, sitting up in his cot and feeling his cheeks. He swallowed hard. He wasn't afraid, no, just shocked. The sound of a gong brought him stumbling outside, forgoing his cane. His breath suddenly made clouds as the temperature continued to fluctuate. He stopped mid stride, there, distinct, five red blossoming flowers in the sky.

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He howled for his attendant. A boy quickly crested the hill and bowed.

“Why was I not informed?” He barked, and even in his small clothes, even hunched over and favouring his one good leg, he was an imposing figure. His body crossed everywhere with scars, some slender and white, others pink and angry.

“General,” the boy was nearly sobbing, “I was just sent to wake you. The signal was just sent.”

Aki hobbled, trying to maintain his balance without placing too much stress on his bad leg. “What do you mean? What of the other signal, the white?”

“General, no other signal was spotted. Just the red, and just now,” the boy was now openly sobbing, his words choked out behind snot and tears.

Aki looked at the fading fireworks in the clear sky, the bright red had now faded to the dull red light of the sun, hardly perceptible.

“General? W-what do we do?”

Aki took a deep breath. Centred himself. He set down his bad leg, grit his teeth through the pain and did not otherwise let it touch his face. He stood erect, proud.

“Help me into my armour, and then fetch the Officers.”

**

His rather plain armour hung heavy from his shoulders, the pain in his leg seared and would soon soar. He still kept this pain from his face. He sat on his stool atop the hill, watching the horizon where the fireworks had been sent with a posture of calculated ease. He slowly opened and closed his marshals fan.

It had not took long to suit up, and shorter for the Officers to assemble. Below the camp was nearly cleared of tents, though the prayer poles still stood. Twelve-hundred men arrayed themselves for battle in distinguishable blocks, some facing the centre lane, some facing the palisade, with room enough to manoeuvre between them. Their black armour stood in stark contrast with the red soil.

“This is our appointed hour,” Aki said solemnly. “I trust you all to conduct yourselves like men. Attend to your commands now, and spare your sword arms. I do not expect our enemy to surrender or run, we will have to kill them to the last. Stay out of the centre lane until the cannons have silenced. There after, use your own discretion. Do your ancestors proud.”

There was a rough cheer in unison from the senior officers, and the clattering of gauntlet to palm as each saluted. They hurried off to join their men below, easily distinguished by the unique crests of their helms, tall and gleaming – half crescent moons, birds, a single spike. Directly below onto the shelf that had been dug into the command hill the Matchstick men were busy lighting small braziers behind their thin line. There were roughly a hundred of them, and they were formed three ranks deep, the first rank was kneeling, the bamboo end of the little cannon dug into the earth, the slow burning twine that would ignite the explosive powder and propel the stones inside the iron tubes was as yet unlighted. When battle was joined in earnest they would use the braziers to light their firing mechanism.

A moment later what had seemed a hurried and panicked bustle settled into eerie calm.

Then, the first sight of the routing men.

They had little order, they were tiny black beetles in the distance scurrying, falling. Aki leaned forward. Those on the hill with him, his honour guard and messengers rustled nervously. Only they and the few men posted on relevant towers would be able to see the slaughter in the distance.

It had felt a terrible long time, but the battle came close.

There was yet one small unit of men, perhaps sixty strong, perhaps less, tightly packed, pausing to lash at their pursuers and then run again some distance. Their pursuers were now close enough to glean. Man shaped but taller, some seemed to fluctuate, to change shape, to become again the creatures Aki had fought on the beach. They roiled, threatened to engulf the little black island of men, but never quite did.

A horn was sounded, the gates were opened. The men poured in and off to the left, the cannons roared, tearing clean through the monstrous clamouring mob clawing their way inside. The tide was stemmed for a short moment, the heavy iron balls tearing monstrous limb, and then surged forward with greater force. They were tumbling over the palisade now, long snake like and thick limbs grasping the top of the stout timber, peeling it like kindling, pushing it in, or pulling it out. Entire sections began to fall.

Aki stood, hand on his sword. He scanned the entire battlefield. There were far more of them than it had appeared. They blended into the landscape too well, or... he was sure of it, his eyes were not playing tricks. They seemed to rise straight from the soil, to dissipate into it. They were bleeding and dying alright, he could see mountains of their corpses clogging the centre path where they were bombarded and penned in with spears. Contorted piles of strange limbs oozing black blood.

His men were hard pressed. He could see the black line buckle here and there, on the left near a breach in the palisade they would break clean through in a moment. And there, along the right, another fault about to split wide, there an Officer's crested helm now fallen, his men panicking, turning to push into the next rank.

It was a disaster.

The Matchsticks roared. Aki could smell the smoke, felt it sting his eyes as it wafted up to him. Another volley, another, and the battlefield was obscured to him. He was grateful for it.

He turned to his honour guard. Their faces were grim, he could read in their eyes that they knew they were about to die. They did not desert him, and so he smiled behind his snarling mask. He motioned the messengers over, and noted that not a one had control of his horse. A few had already run off.

“Prepare the reserve for a rear guard action around the gate!” Aki had to shout with all his force to be heard over the din of battle below. “Go to those fighting you can safely reach and instruct them to retreat. One last of you will travel through the gate itself and inform the garrison of impending attack. May our ancestors embrace us warmly!”

His voice was hoarse. His last orders issued, he turned to the battle, drawing his sword. He stumbled, and one of his men helped him aright. By the time he was at the foot of his command hill, the fighting had already reached it.

He set to his work.

Determined to kill thirty before they could take him.

His strokes were clean, armed this time with a proper blade he was able to cleave those tentacles clear off, able to drive his blade into the tangle and mass in their centre to still them. Able to decapitate the humanoid ones, that now, up close in the sweat and stink and chaos, were cruel and crude copies of the human form. Some had faces, some of these were side ways, some missing eyes, a mouth, their limbs were bone or long and stringy or properly proportioned though missing hands. All of them, however, had sharp teeth. They sunk into the weak points of Aki's armour, a join in the elbow, the armpit, the neck. He was overwhelmed, the pain of his leg intense.

He fell.

The slender giant rocked back and forth in the familiar cave. A child like voice cried out, blubbering.

Aki, bloody and battered approached the giant with his sword drawn. It shrank away, shrieked, held out it's seven fingered hand and screamed.

Then, the proper dark of dreamless sleep.