Please read the author's notes. (Examples and explanation of moves and appearance+ Monster Sources)
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pat.treon:/Keanu_Eugene
CHAPTER START---
"Oh how I've missed this," Ares muses. Sitting high on his horse he looks out to the ocean of soldiers, all clad in his black and red familia equipment. With swords at their hips and spears in their hands, the marching of their boots and clanking of their metal armor is almost deafening. The most numerous military adventuring force on this continent.
"Today we continue making history," King Rakia says, riding beside Ares, clad in a more regal version of the standard armor, same as the god. "All those favors we called in will be well worth it, almost doubling our military might, half a million soldiers is too much even for the ancient defenses of those disgusting Elves."
"I can see it," Ares points ahead. Beyond the front lines of his marching soldiers, he sees massive, gargantuan trees. The border for the Elven forests. Only a few miles of land between his men, and his hated enemy.
"Today we expand the Ashen Plain that much more," Rakia bellows as he can feel his blood rising in anticipation.
The Ashen Plain, Rakia had been waging this endless crusade for centuries. Eventually burning down enough forests that the ground became permanently dyed black from ash and blood as they cut their way through the Elven territories toward the Heart Tree.
As the soldiers continue marching, a large messenger hawk descends toward Ares. Lifting his arm the bird gracefully lands, allowing him to remove the scroll from its leg.
"The naval fleet has begun their assault, it seems the Elves are completely focusing on their defense to the north," Ares removes a spyglass from his saddle and looks ahead toward the forest. "They committed all their defenses to the sea, I don't even see any rangers on this front. They expected us to use the sea and skip this forest to attack their heartland. If only we had enough boats for that," he chuckles.
"I wish we had that many boats," the king grumbles and shakes his head. Turning to his side he addresses one of his generals. "It seems we have a chance to catch the enemy defenseless on this front, don't set up the Trebuchets until we hit a wall and need to set them ablaze. Until then we depend on our infantry to cut a path through that wretched forest, save the fires until we can catch their forces in it."
"Yes sir," the general nods and rides away to spread the word.
As they enter the final few miles, the massive trees are now within reach, all the soldiers feel their hearts beat faster and faster. Gripping spears and swords as adrenaline rises.
Ares, the king, and prince Rakia stop atop a large hill to overlook the entire battle.
Under the shining mid-day sun, a tremor suddenly shakes the battlefield, signaling nothing but disaster for all these men.
The small quake causes some men to fall and stumble, the calvary struggles to control their horses as panic spikes for barely a moment.
"Magic?" the king asks.
"No," Ares says. "Traditional Elven magic is weak, barely a torch flame. Nothing like the magic of Falna, something isn't right here."
As the march continues the skies suddenly go from clear to overcast, clouds forming and moving rapidly before their eyes.
A crack of thunder echoes out and sends a chill down Ares's spine.
"Magic?" he asks nobody in particular. "No...that would mean they asked for help, but Elves don't ask for help, they'd rather die than do that."
As he's wracking his mind running through dozens of scenarios as fast as he can, the earth begins to shift.
Ahead of his soldiers at the front, slabs of the earth rise out of the ground to make massive walls. The grinding of stone against stone carries across their battlefield for all to hear before the walls are set. A mile wide and hundreds of feet tall, as if a small mountain suddenly appeared to block their path.
Seeing this absurd display of power Ares's blood runs cold, he shares a horrified look with king Rakia as they both come to the same conclusion.
"Adventurers shouldn't be here," Ares says through gritted teeth.
A blue light atop the newly formed walls seals their shared suspicions and causes everyone's eyes to widen in dread and terror.
"FULL RETREAT!" Ares orders, a sense of dread and panic rising up in his chest. Years upon years of planning and gathering this force, all for this...thing, to ruin his hard work.
The army wastes no time turning tail, Ares, the king, and the prince quickly pull ahead as they join the calvary in retreating, all the soldiers making a path for them, especially Ares to escape. Without him, they'd have no Falna after all.
Taking the chance to look back Ares sees the flicking blue light disappear, and a raging flame spreads out. Not toward his soldiers, no, reaching out to form two massive walls of fire and surround his army.
All the calvary suddenly find themselves racing against the Fire Curtain as it closes in from their left and right.
"C'mon!" Ares yells out, mostly speaking to his horse rather than the men at his side, seeing only a mile between him and safety as the curtain closes in around them.
Racing against death Ares looks to his left and right, he sees soldiers that can't keep up --on horseback or otherwise-- incinerated by the mere presence of the flames.
For the foolish and desperate men who tried to brave the heat, they were incinerated before they even made contact, the sheer heat melting and warping the ground for meters around the fire itself.
Aiming toward where the flames would meet, therefore the point that would give them the most time possible. The king and his closest men push their horses past their limits, the panting beasts moving faster as if reacting to the desperation of their riders.
Hundreds of men on horseback racing for the same point, dropping weapons, armor, and equipment. Making themselves as light as possible to get a better chance at survival.
At the head of the pack, the king is almost completely stripped of his heavy plate armor, not a weapon on his person or saddle. Besides him, all the men are in the same desperate state.
Seeing the flames less than a hundred feet to either side of him and the exit so close.
He closes his eyes and decides to meet death blind. A mild wave of heat reaches him along with the agonizing screams of burning men. The next time he opens his eyes, he's free of the death trap, breathing a sigh of relief as he allows his horse to slow down while he looks back.
With a grim expression, he feels saddened by the loss of so many soldiers. Looking up at the wall of fire, reaching up hundreds of feet.
Taking stock of who made it, he's relieved to see his son, the prince, as well as Ares. With Ares surviving at least his men will fight till the end, not that he imagined it would have any effect against that thing.
Rallying the few dozen people to escape, he raises his voice to draw their attention to him. "Don't stop until we reach the capital! They won't attack the city!"
Within the battlefield, atop the massive slabs of earth that he raised Yang sits with his feet dangling over the edge. Wearing his armor he has his Elemental Wheel active to better control his flames.
"Alright everything is going as planned, Ares and the king got out, I'm barely keeping these walls up, you two ready?" he asks.
A wave of arrows is sent toward them only for him to bat them away with a wave of his hand launching a torrent of flame.
"I'm going," was all Welf said before rocketing into the sky like a blood-red meteor, using Mosoka to propel himself upward.
Watching him ascend Thalie walks to the edge and stands next to Yang, wearing fully repaired armor and holding her new weapon, "is he gonna be ok?"
"No," Yang sighs. "But this is what he wanted, let him get some of it out of his system before you go down there and do your part," Yang says.
"Right, this is for him anyway," Thalie mutters as they watch Welf descend like a meteor onto the battlefield.
Above the battlefield, Welf hovers for a moment, staring out at the sea of red and black armor. Looking at his past self and seeing all the lives that would be proudly stamped out. Beneath his helmet, his brows furrow, and his teeth are bared. Veins throbbing as his grip on Mosoka tightens. With a motion of his wrist, he changes his momentum from rising to descending, launching himself toward half a million soldiers with nothing but death in mind.
Unleashing the wrath of a kind man...
CHAPTER END---
Apparently, the pacing issues were because my brain was burnt out, took some time away from writing or editing anything and I'm back now :)