Smoke and ash wafted heavily through the air while the glow of nearby fires shone through the gloom. Screams rang out in different tenors amidst the clash of weaponry and bestial roars.
Tens of thousands of booted feet marched down the Capital's main highway as its armies were evacuating the sprawling city.
Fighting through the smoke and flame while still in formation, the warriors and wizards killed and died for every city block they passed.
Most of the populace had already been evacuated, but the army took any who would still come with them. A few unfortunate holdovers refused to leave and hid in their homes as the army and evacuees passed by.
Shortly thereafter, those who remained were bitterly regretting not leaving with the military as they were captured, or slain.
The Capital City of the Kingdom of Rostovo was a literal hellscape as it burned. Even the King's Castle lay in ruins, with its ramparts crumbled and its towers toppled.
Visibility quickly became worse with smoke slowly billowing throughout. The smoke hid the flames as they destroyed the noble areas closer to the castle. Eventually, the brightness of the burning could not be hidden as the flames made their way toward the commercial and residential districts of the Capital City.
The survivors of the army of Rostovo quickly escaped these districts. Passing the barricades were no hindrance, as they now lay in shambles. The ruined streets held many hurriedly-made-but-now unguarded blockades.
The civilians averted their eyes, while the Knights fiercely eyed the corpses of their brethren decorating these now-defunct structures.
A short distance behind the Kingdom's army, the attacking forces moved at a relaxed and measured pace. Their roars continued as they brought destruction on nearby buildings and anyone they crossed. The Capital continued to burn behind them, leaving nothing untouched.
Small groups of their forces constantly broke awake to search the side streets they passed. Other groups returned, carrying captured citizens or disarmed soldiers. Some were killed immediately while others were carried deeper into the crowd of enemies.
They continued to trail after the kingdom's army. Laughing and heckling them for the destruction they were allowed to cause.
The escaping columns of troops were fighting desperately to leave the Capital City in hopes of reaching the highways on the outskirts.
Their strategy was that once they were on the roads leading away from the Capital, they would be able to rush to nearby cities or allies for aid. Once they had broken past these enemies, they would be better able to protect the remaining citizens, surviving royalty.
But the outlook was grim, even then. These brave fighters here with the escaping convoy were the remainder of the Rostovo Kingdom's strongest military forces. Any remaining in other cities were only town guards or simple garrison militia. Those types were policing or reserve forces, untested and not likely to fare much better against the hordes they now fled from.
The Capital City faced off against an overwhelming horde of hellish evils and abominations. Red-skinned hairless men, cloaked only in hooked chains (which undulated over their bodies like living snakes) led contingents of alien-looking horrors in search of any survivors.
Mixed amongst these were groups of different undead, minor demons, and lesser devils. These creatures tore through the rear vanguard and flanks of the kingdom's surviving men-at-arms. The horrors and monstrosities sought desperately to reach a heavily armored carriage plodding along near the center of the convoy.
The powerful knights and mages who accompanied the carriage gave their all into supporting the defense as the entire group continued to move ahead.
Though the attackers occasionally broke through the vanguard, their forces could never penetrate deeply into that sea of brave and desperate souls who rebuffed their advances again and again.
After six hours of defending the convoy, the surviving ranks made their way through the ruined gates onto the kingdom's extensive highways outside Capital City.
The armored carriage and crowds of people continued to move forward, out away from the Capital steadily. Its defenders plodded along with exhaustion and hopelessness, but the hordes no longer chased them.
With despair in their eyes and anger in their hearts, many cried bitterly. They had lost family, friends, and their land. Everything inside the Capital City was likely destroyed.
Others stepped forward listlessly, with blank expressions. Having seen horrors beyond their imagination suddenly made into reality, these poor souls were left with a tenuous grasp on their remaining sanity.
Only those near the armored carriage retained any feelings resembling hopefulness. Contrary to the battered equipment of the men-at-arms, the equipment of these knights and mages gleamed in varied colors, giving off reassuring auras of power.
These were the Knight and Mage Captains, with the job to defend the carriage containing the only surviving members of the kingdom's royal family.
Nearby, several groups of archers warily eyed the surroundings. Some walked with arrows nocked and ready to draw as they marched through the wide lanes outside the Capital.
The mages and clerics kept their powers at the ready, waiting to defend the convoy from any long-range or large area attacks, but nothing came.
Though the sounds of burning and battle within the Capital City continued, the stonework walls dampened the noise. The walls and distance made the cacophony of suffering sound faint and ghostly.
Many turned and took one last longing look at the Capital City. The flames brightened the surroundings for miles, creating an odd discordance with the starless night sky.
***
An hour later, the burning Capital City was a dim glow in the distance. The surviving forces passed small outlier villages and rounded up those who were willing to flee. Many were persuaded simply seeing some of the survivors.
A short distance ahead of the armored carriage marched a contingent of nearly one hundred lightly armored men-at-arms. Unlike the other men-at-arms (soldiers, both men and women, despite the phrase) wielding swords, axes, and pikes, these were talented hunters serving as a ranged militia due to their proficiency with a bow.
The archers kept the pace set by the stronger forces ahead much better than the lagging civilians, despite having no experience with a forced march.
Immediately behind the archers were some of the citizens. Tired couples carried children or elderly adults. Some carried large backpacks with their possessions, while many others had nothing. Most sobbed quietly while others walked listlessly, their eyes unfocused.
Amongst the latter group of the hopeless walked a young man of approximately twenty years who wore a quiver at his waist, and a shouldered bow slightly longer than a meter. The young man wore the bloodstained uniform of an archer scout, similar to the lightly armored archers walking ahead of the citizens. Several serious wounds littered his shoulders and arms, while his face was splattered with dried blood.
Although the young man's steps matched the others around him, his movements were unnaturally stiff. All of his motions had an oddly mechanical quality about them, seeming automated. His face appeared calm, but the young man's blue eyes darted around wildly, full of terror, disbelief, and resentment.
His eyelids blinked slowly, but not very often. Compared with the wild, nonstop movement of his eyes, the rest of his movements painted a disturbing picture of contrast. His eyes were constantly scanning his surroundings as tears ran down his cheeks into the stubble of a youthful scraggly beard.
His thin lips were pressed together tightly, forcibly preventing him from crying out, yet some nearly inaudible whimpers still escaped occasionally. Most of those nearby were too absorbed in their own suffering to pay him any mind.
Several survivors nearby forced themselves to ignore the muffled noises the blue-eyed young man was regularly making. They all assumed that he was grieving a loss of some sort, just as they were, and wanted to be left alone, which was why he was putting on such a strong front.
Numerous castle staff and support personnel moved amongst the soldiers and the citizens handing out supplies or bandaging the wounded. They eventually made their way to the odd blue-eyed young man.
While the court page tended to his wounds, they both stopped walking for a moment. The blue-eyed young man felt immeasurable relief and wonder as his body stopped moving of its own accord.
The blue-eyed young man tried to get the teenage attendant's attention with his eyes and some muffled screams, but it was hopeless because he still couldn't control his body or open his mouth.
Despite making several clearly audible groans and noises the page somehow didn't hear his attempts as the younger boy calmly finished bandaging up an oozing gash on the blue-eyed young man's left forearm. Then the young page ignored him and continued through the throng of people.
The blue-eyed young man suddenly continued to step forward in formation with everyone else, step after step. In the same forced movements, those steps soon became miles.
Mile after mile the blue-eyed young man continued in the same strange automated-looking gait, with the feelings of desperation burning in his chest.
As the steps continued, the absurdity of the situation caused the burning in his chest to reach his head as he wondered how he had become trapped inside his own body.
His blue eyes, alight with terror as they scanned the highways ahead, suddenly and miraculously closed for a moment. Even though his marching didn't stop, the sight of black was such a relief that tears suddenly squeezed through his eyelids.
Nearly everything about himself seemed to be working on autopilot- or was somehow under the control of another being. He wasn't in control of his own body. That was a terrifying thought.
He felt everything. He was exhausted and every spot on his body hurt. He couldn't actively rub any sore spot, or scratch any itch. His breathing labored from the constant walking. The accompanying hitch in his side made each breath painful.
He could open his mouth to take a deep breath, but once he tried to communicate about what was happening to him in any way, his lips betrayed him and compressed tightly. Even when he managed to alert someone else, they didn't seem to notice or understand what was happening to him.
Those around him had walked just as much as he had, but they were still in control of themselves. Though they were exhausted, they nonetheless acted normally. They could, and often did, stop and rest for a few moments now that the horrors of the Capital were behind them somewhat.
He hadn't been able to do that since he woke up in this strange place.
'Where am I? Where is this place? How did I get here?' He thought.
'Why can't I control my own body? I just keep walking! What the hell is going on!?' he thought as hysteria swelled within him.
Despite the pain from his wounds continuing to persist, he thought that the whole ordeal was just a really vivid dream. 'I must have fallen asleep on the plane to San Juan.'
A sudden burst of light appeared in front of the blue eyed young man, visible only to him by the lack of reaction from others nearby.
The words written there resounded through his mind as he read them:
[SO THIS IS WHAT THE TERM 'WISHFUL THINKING', LOOKS LIKE]
Stunned, but only able to react by a near-imperceptible widening of his eyes, the blue eyed young man watched as the letters merged and reformed, the mechanical male voice speaking once again:
[THIS IS NOT A DREAM]
The blue eyed young man was shocked to his core at the fact that the voice answered the questioned he had asked silently.
The oppressive voice continued:
[YOU ARE THE NEWEST HERO CHARACTER OF THE MOBILE GAME, DESTINY WAR TACTICS!]
[YOU ARE WALKER TONLEVAR. AN ARCHER SCOUT OF THE KINGDOM OF ROSTOVO]
[IF YOU WANT TO CONTINUE LIVING, KEEP WALKING, WALKER]