"Fuck, fuck, all is lost," Julian thought, his heart hammering in his chest as he spurred his horse forward, the iron heel of his boot slamming against the beast's sides. The hooves beat against the hot sand beneath them, a frantic rhythm matching the panic that churned in his gut.
As the leader of the reserve, Julian had been overseeing the battle when everything took a disastrous turn. Just moments ago, victory had seemed within their grasp—the enemy's center had begun to falter. But in the blink of an eye, defeat reared its ugly head like a venomous snake, striking faster than anyone could react.
First, Julian had seen the camel riders, their dark figures darting through the chaos of the battlefield, heading straight for their rear. They slammed into the archers, sending them fleeing in disarray. Then the emperor had charged forward, the banner of the empire flying high, fluttering proudly in the wind, rallying the clibanarii as they moved to strike at their enemies.
And then—it happened. The banner fell.
A soldier in the back , may the gods curse him for that, then shouted in panic, "The banner fell! The emperor is in danger!"
From that moment on, everything had fallen apart. The mood shifted like a storm cloud swallowing the sun. The rumors spread like wildfire: "The emperor is dead. The enemy took his head."
"The emperor is dead! Flee!"
Julian could feel the blood draining from his face as panic began to seize his men. The words burned in his mind like a curse.
He was a seasoned veteran, a man who had fought in more battles than he cared to count. He knew how to rally his troops—but this was different.
The enemy, sensing the tide was turning, launched a brutal attack. His soldiers, began to break. The battlefield was awash with chaos. Julian tried to rally his men, but it was too late. Some tried to surrender, their hands raised in a desperate plea, but their enemies showed no mercy. The mercenaries, fueled by revenge for being battered for hours, met them with swift, brutal force. The cries of the fallen mixed with the clatter of weapons as Julian's own soldiers were cut down, one by one.
In that moment, Julian knew it was all lost. His heart pounded with the knowledge that there was no turning back. He gathered his trusted guard—30 men who had fought with him through countless battles—and without a second thought, they spurred their horses into action, deserting the battlefield, leaving the rest of their levy soldiers to be slaughtered.
Julian didn't have time to think about the men he was abandoning; his mind was already focused on escape.
They had to cut their losses and survive.
But luck, as it seemed, was not on their side.
A glance over his shoulder told him everything he needed to know. The camel riders, the relentless "tanks of the desert," had picked up on the 30 horsemen fleeing. They began to chase.
The horses, fast and agile, initially pulled ahead, their powerful gallops cutting through the sand like a hot knife. But the camels, built for endurance, were closing in. Slowly at first, then with an eerie inevitability, the camel riders began to gain ground, their massive, lumbering figures gaining on the fleeing horses.
The desert stretched out before them like an endless void, and Julian's heart sank with every breath his horse took. The heat, the sand, the endless pursuit—it all blended into one nightmarish haze. He could hear the heavy, methodical thuds of the camel's hooves behind them, getting closer, closer, closer...
With a curse that tore from his throat, Julian tightened his grip on the reins, urging his horse to push harder. But the animal was tiring, its breath becoming more erratic with each desperate stride.
In the chaos of the chase, one of his guards broke through the noise, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. "My lord, go! We'll hold them off!"
The desperation in his voice was palpable.
They had always known what they were signing up for, after all. For them, it was an honor to sacrifice their lives if it meant their lord survived.
Half of Julian's guards immediately turned their steeds to face the oncoming camel riders. Their faces were grim, their resolve unwavering. They were ready to give everything for his survival. Julian's throat tightened at the sight, but he knew he had no choice.
With a final, grateful nod to his guards, he spurred his horse onward, not daring to look back. They were soldiers, born to fight and die for their lord. And Julian, though his heart ached, knew this was the only way to ensure he could live to fight another day.
The guards' sacrifice would not be in vain. They would buy him the time he needed. And as Julian urged his horse forward, his chest tight with guilt and fear, he prayed that they would survive long enough to make the next move.
With a thunderous charge, the guards spurred their horses forward, their lances leveled and ready to strike.
The camels, massive and imposing, seemed to tower over them. The horses, balked and reared in terror. Their nerves shattered by the eerie presence of the beasts, they fought to maintain control, their eyes wide with primal fear.
Julian's guards, however, were seasoned warriors. They quickly adapted, their training kicking in as they abandoned the lances in favor of desperate tactics. Seizing their weapons, they hurled their lances like javelins toward the oncoming camel riders. But the terror of the horses led to erratic throws, and the lances flew off course, missing their marks by inches.
Sweat dripped from the guards' brows as they drew their swords with practiced ease. The metal gleamed in the harsh desert light as they fought to make their steeds move forward, their bodies pressed against the horses' trembling sides.
With a brutal cry, they threw their bodies into the fray, crashing into the enemy's ranks with reckless abandon, taking a few of their attackers down with them as they fell to the scorching sand. Others, with no time to waste, focused their efforts on the camels themselves. They aimed their blows at the beasts' sides, striking the vulnerable spots where the armor didn't reach. The camels, powerful as they were,still shrieked in pain and fell over with wounds over hooves or throats.
Despite their heroism, the guards were outnumbered, outmatched, and outpaced by the relentless tide of camel riders. One by one, they fell, struck by lances, swords, and the merciless weight of the desert's fury. Their blood stained the sands, their bodies marking the final battlefield of their loyalty. But even as they fell, they achieved their mission: they had bought Julian the time he needed to escape.