The War Without End
He ended the last of the human-hound freaks, a feral man-thing trying to rip his throat out with its dirty red-brown teeth. Pahdraig shattered the offending dentition with the pommel of his blessed sword, before skillfully slitting the throat of its demented owner.
More blood to the Onyisinwe's armour, sword and the battle-ground beneath him.
Finally, the crusader was face to face with the brute that downed a comrade. The Ihojoo's vice-acolyte looked up from where it knelt, bleeding from an ugly gash on its goatish forehead.
A fatal concussion it seems.
The man-beast, a twisted human thing with swollen muscles, clawed hands and hooved feet. Wearing only a loincloth to hide its dignity, the dreadful bronze axe laying useless at its side; the fiend began to laugh. A booming sound that bespoke the mockery of all things holy and just. Pahdraig didn't suffer the fiend to live, the knight made the short sprint and loped off the caprid-head of the foul thing with a vengeful cry of hate.
The fell beast's head was lost to the corpse-heaps, blood gushing from the headless body thrashing in death-throes alongside other cadavers on the battleground. Pahdraig took stock of the surroundings for the first time in the hours since the battle began.
The fight on his zone of the vast battlefield ebbed, winning the knights some reprieve. Here and there, the Onyisinwe saw his fallen battle-brothers amidst the dying and the dead; some of them would never rise again. The knight cast his gaze across the battlefield, accessing losses and gains; no enemy in sight.
All of the past wave were eliminated, some warriors silencing the foes still struggling to fight on. Pahdraig saw a battle-brother take off his helm, apparently standing in repose for dead friends. Pahdraig saw the swarthy face that had been hidden within the black-steel helmet. The fellow had eyes which hinted at a deeper sorrow, the Azraelites head bald, and tattooed with holy sigils.
The mourning knight wore the eigengrau of the Darkness Plague Azraelites.
The same as Pahdraig.
They made eye contact, giving each other a nod of acknowledgement.
Pahdraig sighed, heaving a heavy relaxing breathe. He let down his guard for a moment, thinking to rest when an arrow hit his left shoulder's armour plate. The impact unbalanced the Onyisinwe, causing him to slip and fall. The warrior checked the shoulder for injury; the arrowhead penetrated his pauldron but not deep enough to wound the knight. Pahdriag recovered, glimpsing the swarthy tattooed bald-headed battle-brother hack to death a scaled woman-thing with serpentine eyes and wicked talons for fingers.
The snake-woman's evil hisses were a thing of bloodcurdling horror to the ears, the half-demon died with blood frothing at its fanged mouth.
Damn it!
++Creator! Does this war not end? See your children to victory oh Master of the universe… Speak for us blessed matriarch… Your grace upon us, precious star sage…
See us through these dark days.++
The bald battle-brother ran to his leader, checking Pahdraig for signs of harm. The Onyeisinwe motioned that he had not been wounded. In that same instant, a great roar was heard. A new wave of enemy rushed forth to make bloody war upon Pahdraig's sector once again. Regaining his footing and yanking out the failed arrow shot, Pahdraig called out to the pious men; rallying the battle-brothers, calling for situational updates and formations.
The bald Plaguebearer returned his helmet to its rightful place. Both Azraelites, amongst the many Athleta Christi, drew up their weapons against the charging infernal horde. They went into formation, steadying their bodies and spirits for the coming melee.
Pahdraig's plague-brother took up the cry this time, the Onyisinwe's voice adding to the thunderous reply.
"For the greatness of mankind…"
And the war went on, as below so it was above. The Luminous ones did battle against the Hellions in the spiritual, just as their human followers fought in the physical.