The battle raged on as all forces closed in on each other. The Hadrialan army—an orderly machine of combat in which many smaller groups made up the larger—worked with tactics and formations as they battled the ferocious Hasshan; sun-tanned men and women with a champion's spirit each that fought in loose groups of individuals.
In the distance, huge Beasts of War lumbered, curved tusks and flexible trunks painting an alien image to the men of Hadrial. Atop some of those colossal creatures, men sported bows and javelins, while atop some others, huge war drums were beaten in a frenzy by men in a daze.
A tradition Hasshan inherited from the First Men, the rhythm of war.
Markus continued his work, leading almost a thousand men as he shouted orders to the sergeants who instructed the various lance leaders, but the longer they fought, the more he knew things had to change.
His men were faltering, too many lacked the experience required for their job, and with so many, their fear and nerves spread through the ranks wordlessly. Men who sat too high in their saddles were taken by spears or javelins. Men whose fear took a hold of their minds got bogged down in single combat, only to be trampled or left behind.
'This isn't working'
Suddenly pulling himself as low on his saddle as he could, he avoided a javelin thrown from a ludicrous distance and felt it glance off his armor, a brief cry sounding from the man behind who suffered in his place.
'If they are overwhelmed so easily, then these curved charges to wear down the front lines won't work for long. They need to see a tangible result to spark their spirits.'
Shouting orders to his sergeants, his cavalry broke off from the enemy forces, ceasing their gradual grind on the Hasshan, and began a new maneuver. No longer a curved blade slicing at the enemy ranks, his men gathered themselves like a spear in truth before charging forth once more.
Throughout the rest of the battlefield, eyes turned to this change and everyone else, Hadrialan and Hasshan both, adapted. Orson baited out the enemy cavalry while the other free companies ran interference.
'Come on Don, look this way. You know what to do right?'
Turning his head to the side, he could actually pick out the frame of Don Cox waiting within the massive army of infantry, eyes watching Markus' charge. To his power-infused sight, it looked as if he nodded.
Markus smiled as he sped up the charge. "We are the spear! We are Crimson!"
Mimicked shouts and roars behind him were drowned out by the sound of the frontal clash as Strider broke bodies in its wake and Markus' lance forced its way through the typically softer armors of the Hasshan.
Directly behind his charge came the footmen of the Crimson Company led by Don Cox as they widened the breach and secured their rear, effectively splitting the Hasshan army in half.
Quinn roared ecstatically from Markus' side as they plowed through the Hasshan army, their 900 men shifting formations once more to ride a round circuit, like a buzzsaw that slowly expanded within the enemy ranks, always moving, trampling, killing. Even as individual horsemen died, the buzzsaw continued on with no loss of momentum.
Yet as he rode, that foreboding feeling continued to haunt Markus. He knew it should mean nothing, he experienced it every day he did not take the time to meditate, and it never meant anything. He knew that… and yet.
'Why do I feel like we're all standing on the edge of a cliff, unaware of the cracks beneath our feet.' Not just the Crimson Company, or even his kingdom of Hadrial, but every one of them fighting this day.
For the first time since this battle had started, Markus truly saw his enemies, actually looked in the eyes of the Hasshan and saw the crazed need that blazed within.
'Why do they look so desperate? So… fearful.'
That ominous feeling grew looming in the back of his mind and a shiver ran down his spine, but the battle did not pause to let him ponder. A cry came from his side, a voice Markus knew very well, and without thought, he broke one of his few rules for battle. He turned his head to look back in worry.
What he saw was Quinn, eyes wide as his horse fell, its legs severed and blood flying through the air. The boy's feet were still in the stirrups of his saddle, and he had frozen in shock.
Markus shouted to him, but in that moment of weakness, the one moment he broke his rule and turned to look back at those who ran behind, he was struck.
The roaring sound of hooves trampling earth and flesh became cacophonous in that instant, and it took a moment for Markus to recognize dirt through his bloodied vision. He was on the ground!
Shooting to his feet as quickly as he could manage, he fought off the wave of dizziness he felt as his head spun to glance in every direction, taking stock of his surroundings.
His lance was still in hand, but his helmet was lost and his vision bloodied. Strider was nowhere to be seen, the beast would have continued charging after he was knocked off.
The heavy warhoses continued to stampede through the area, almost trampling him alongside the surrounding Hasshan soldiers, but Markus' attention was elsewhere. He had no idea what had happened to Quinn!
Power filled his voice as Markus ran enemy soldiers through with his lance, shouting as loudly as he could over the chaos filling his ears. "Cavalry of the Crimson, continue onwards under the lead of Sergeant Bryant Ryda!"
A few vague shouted replies followed but he had no time to listen in. A javelin sailed over the heads of the infantry at shocking speeds to pierce the flank of a warhorse nearby. The beast was actually thrown back a few feet by the force of the impact, and from the javelin's origin, Markus felt a thrumming within.
A tall, bald Hasshan man with sun-tanned skin and pattern-like tattoos across his body pushed through the footmen to approach, a blue light clinging to his body like some sort of aura; the mark of a Grand Knight.
Without thought, the mental image of his Gallery of War surfaced, and within the sky of that dawn-lit plane, stars blinked into existence. With the appearance of every star at the edge of that sky, the light of the morning sun intensified, from gentle warmth to a blazing radiance as six stars shone above.
The six Gates of War that marked him a Grand Knight had opened at once and power surged through him like electric veins of golden light. His long lance dropped to the ground as he drew an arming sword from his waist, but his shield was lost on Strider's saddle.
The Hasshan knight smiled in anticipation as a golden aura emanated from Markus' silhouette.
The ground broke as steel flashed, and the two Grand Knights were already intimately close, locked in fatal combat as the dust in the air flowed with their movements, illustrating the deadly details of their rapid exchanges.
Cold steel grazed Markus' neck as his sword severed part of the man's ear. Free hands were used to grab and bind as the two thrust steel weapons at each other, and the Hasshan man incorporated kicks that gradually dented Markus' heavy armor, restricting his movements.
From the distance behind the Grand Knight he fought, Markus saw two men appear above the heads of the infantry, standing on the saddles of their running horses, bows drawn and pointed in his direction.
'Shit!'
With his left hand, he struck the pommel of the Hasshan man's scimitar, interfering with the oncoming strike while his arming sword spun about with the flick of a wrist, deflecting one arrow. His head was thrown to the side as quickly as he could manage to avoid the second, but even still it cut deeply through his right cheek.
Still not stopping, he kicked at the Hasshan Knight's shin to create some distance as his eyes swept the distant crowds.
Those archers had vanished…
"I apologize. They disrespect our battle."
The deep voice caught Markus off guard as he turned his gaze back to the Hasshan knight he'd been fighting.
"But they have their reasons, and I will not stop them." The wide scimitar flourished in the air as the knight took a stance once more. "We cannot afford our honor." His eyes held that same desperation that the others did.
Markus readied himself once more. He was faster than this man, and perhaps more skilled, but already his armor felt restrictive and frustrating. The footmen did not interrupt them, they would die if they came too close, but the cavalry still charged nearby in that ever-expanding circle. He needed to kill this man and find Quinn quickly.
"My name is Kondo Obi."
"...Markus Nabora." Most times he would laugh and smile at the opportunity to battle a Grand Knight, but that feeling kept looming in his mind, and he still did not know if Quinn was dead or alive.
Kondo did not wait. He lunged forth and their battle began again. On occasion, those two mounted archers would stand up on their horses, revealing themselves above the heads of the infantry to take shots at Markus before hiding once more.
Every time he had to split his attention to deal with them he would lose ground. Worse, his armor was in the way, dented and distorted, it restricted his movement far too much. Steel armor was not meant for an exchange of this level, it was meant to defend him from stray arrows.
Exhaustion began to build as he fought, and after a while, he could no longer tell if his armor was too dented to move it, or if he simply lacked the energy.
The Hasshan Knight, Kondo, looked as if he'd been sweating blood, his body covered in red from the many wounds Markus had inflicted. By comparison, Markus' armor had protected him from cuts, but the blunt strikes he had suffered were considerable and his exhaustion was at its limit.
A heavy strike forced Markus back a few steps, and his foot slipped in the gore of the dead, his back hitting the ground with a wet and painful thud. Dizziness overwhelmed him and in that moment he felt truly powerless. His protective armor felt like a steel coffin, crushing him.
Another impact brought back some of his senses and Markus found the blood-red Hasshan Knight on top of him, eyes almost closed and breathing ragged. He had tried to strike at the moment Markus fell and ended on the ground with him.
His arming sword wasn't in his hand anymore, he didn't know where it had gone, but his opponent's scimitar was on the ground nearby. Markus reached for it in a daze, but Kondo swept it aside before drawing a small dagger from his belt.
"I'm sorry… Markus Nabora," he labored. "May we battle again in the next life." The point of the dagger hovered above his head, but before it could fall, Markus managed enough strength to grab the man's hand, desperately holding off the blade.
"S-sorry, Kondo, but this isn't the part where I die." He gave what was meant to sound like a chuckle, but blood filled his throat and in the proceeding coughing fit, the blade fell closer.
"Nooo…." He groaned, trying so hard not to cough, and not to choke as blood bubbled.
The blade fell, bit by bit, towards his right eye.
"Stop resisting… Markus. It is… over!" The Hasshan man growled as the blade's point made contact with Markus' eye.
Strangely, even as it drove deeper by the second, Markus could not feel the pain. In fact, he couldn't feel much of anything physical at that moment.
His body spasmed with an involuntary cough as the blood filling his throat covered his face, and the hilt of the dagger hit his skull.
His left eye went wide in that final moment, but his resistance ceased as his arms fell by his side.
He was dead.