Clinking metal and the stomping of boots sounded behind me as I strode forth upon a barren landscape. 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. An army comprised of the battered but not broken. Humans, Beastkin, Goblins, and Dwarves all marched shoulder the shoulder in a unity that, before these dark days, had been unthinkable. These soldiers, these heroes, were all that remained of the once proud lands of Chiros. They were the ones who stood between this world’s destruction at the hands of the Daharillm, the primal forces of destruction from another realm. We gave these strange creatures many names, though most weren’t pleasant. The Daharillm had destroyed everything in their path of total conquest. Their ravenous nature had scourged these once green lands barren.

The thunder of our footsteps echoed off the dusty land as we marched across the barren plains that had once been the Kingdom of Tigleon. Our silence was bred from acceptance of our impending demise rather than grim determination of the final battle to come. Ever since the emergence of The Rift, not a soul 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 an all too hot sun in this dry land. 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 massive tornado at any moment. At the center of this phenomenon would be the Rift. Lightning crackled far 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 laughter. 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. Not a stone’s throw away was our goal, a massive rip in the fabric of the world. Small, grey-skinned figures scurried about in the ruins of the city, forming into a mass of bodies that faced us.


“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 gaping 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 clashes with the Daharillm. We had left Cassantium with over two hundred. The eldest of the magi was unsure if they were enough to close the Rift, but we’d damn well go down fighting if it wasn’t. 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. 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.

Our previous battle had claimed the life of our 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 and I, the army stayed together just enough to beat the Daharillm. As we stood atop the hill overlooking the ruins of what was 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 slowly 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. 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. Arrows were effective against the weaker of the Daharillm, and in this battle they’d be worth their weight in gold.

My greatest regret is that we had no cavalry to speak of. Horses were always 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 Soris, 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 striding 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 echoed amongst the gathered armies. 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 see the horde charging towards us.

“Look at how they fear us so!” 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 slowly marched down the hill to meet the enemy in combat.

The sound of steel clashed violently in the air as our armies collided. The magi had been held back and began their ritual at this moment. Ninteen magi surrounded Cyrene and began pouring their magical energies into her as she began an incantation to close the Rift. Our mission was to simply hold the enemy at bay with our lives until they completed the ritual. Once that finished and The Rift closed we would have to eliminate the remaining enemy forces. I merged with the line of heavy infantry, eager to carve a swathe through the Daharillm. The sweet sound of twanging bowstrings and the whistling of arrows overhead spoke of the second line holding back to fire their ammunition. Once their arrows were spent they’d draw their blades and join in the melee. But they had orders to only fire a few volleys, the arrows would be needed to down the flying Daharillm.

Arrows sunk into the armor of the oncoming horde of Swarmers, the weakest type of Daharillm. These small humanoid-esque 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 hook-like swords and bill hook 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 surprise attack. At least there was no commander type on the field.

What we were fighting was no better than a mob of well-equipped peasants.

After the fourth volley of arrows had cut a swathe through the enemy ranks, the rain of arrows ceased. The rush of adrenaline surged in my veins as I clashed with the enemy. 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.

Screams cried out all along the line as soldiers from all walks of life died in the faith that they would be victorious this day. I stepped forward towards another swarmer and separated his head from his shoulders. 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 in my mind as I tore through any enemy that rushed towards me. A hand pounded on my shoulder from behind me and I nodded. It was time for me to rest and the man behind me to take my place in the line.

I took a quick breath and surveyed they situation as I retreated to safety behind the line of heavy infantry. We were holding them far better than we ever had before. In our constant struggle, we had become a well-oiled war machine. But there were just so Swarmers, like an ocean of darkness before us that threatened to swallow the world whole. 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 shook beneath our feet as the Rift churned violently. Hellfire spewed from within the Rift as a large amount of flying creatures broke through the portal that merged our worlds. Technically, they were called Gazaks, but we coined them simply ‘Fliers’. They were similar in stature to the Goblin-esque Swarmers 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.

“Archers!” Hallock cried out far behind me. 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. What was once an massive cloud of foes was rapidly diminished with each volley. 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.

Once more, the Rift churned violently. But this time massive figures clad in obsidian-like armor charged out from the portal riding large mounts that resembled scarabs. These would be the Brutes, the deadliest of the Daharillm’s forces. Even as they thundered across the dry ground, smashing through their own forces. As they trampled their way towards my front line I couldn’t help but admire the sheer determination of these invaders. 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 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 attempted to disrupt our formation by throwing themselves upon whomever was closest, but to no avail. All they could do was die by the score as the Brutes trampled them from behind. But there was one major flaw to our use of pikes versus the enemy’s ‘cavalry’.

The sound of metal clashing rung out as the Brutes and their mounts smashed into our wall of pointed death. Roars of rage echoed against the front line as screams of pain haunted my ears. Sharpened pikes tore through chitinous armor and tore Brutes from their mounts as they suicidally charged our line. But those scarabs that they rode kept moving forward, and their armor was much thicker than the Brutes’. A pike would find no purchase against such beasts, and so we had decided 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 breaking underfoot sounded in the air as I gave a silent thanks to the late Massawe. By his orders we had pike formations mixed with soldiers wielding war-picks. 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 tactics.

An ungodly sound like that of a massive exploding fireball cascaded from the direction of The Rift. Moments later the ground began to quake and I felt my footing fail me. I couldn’t hear the sound of my body hitting the ground while a loud ringing sounded in my ears. For a moment, there was blessed silence on the battlefield, even as I cautiously pushed myself to my feet. Hallock stood off to my right, gesturing madly. I stared at him and then moved my sight towards where he was pointing. The Rift churned as a single Daharillm strode from whatever hells lurked beyond the portal. A Daharillm that would stand two heads taller than a human-sized Brute. This new monster’s body was exceedingly bulky from muscles formed underneath it’s chitin armor that covered it from head to toe. With gargantuan hands, the monster cradled a brutal war-hammer. This would have been a Breaker Daharillm, a type that could crush entire platoons by itself, had it not been for the massive wings growing from its back. I gripped the pommel of my blade and drew it from the scabbard at my hip. This was a Commander subspecies.

In an instant, the battlefield shifted. Swarmers, Brutes, and what few Fliers remained backed off from the fight as their Commander trudged towards us with lumbering steps. I looked to the magi performing their ritual and gaped at what I saw. A swirling maelstrom of magical energy surrounded Cyrene that crackled with electricity. I hoped with all my being that they were close to finishing their magic. With weapon in hand, I walked towards the coming Commander, hoping to buy Cyrene enough time to end this once and for all.

A sea of metal parted before me as the men cleared a path for me as I walked. 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 then a multitude of men joined in as they clashed gauntlet 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.

“Give ‘em hell commander!” Hallock shouted from within the crowd. More cheers cried out in opposition to evil. I finished my march standing ahead of the army and waited. As the Breaker Commander approached, the ground trembled. Each time the created stepped, new cracks formed atop the dry landscape, 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 its shoulder. I nodded. A strange gurgling sounded from behind the monster’s chitin helm.