The guards at the front gate shifted, like an immovable wall of stone, and waved civilians further into the kingdom; the people clung to the fronts of their homes, as if to the roots in the dirt, and would not let go. "All of you, do not loiter about gathering your goods," the guards yelled over the din of chaos. Suddenly, with a loud crashing noise, bandits on both sides ambushed the guards, beating them like waves crashing against cliffs. "Ha, ha, ha! Let's crush them all!" exclaimed one bandit-the one showing the most savage delight of any bloodthirsty devil. The smell of blood further fired their frenzy as they cut the line, rejoicing in the dark triumph.
The captain of the guards, his blade dripping with a bandit's blood, stopped at the sound of a child wailing. It was a sharp wail, cutting through the sounds of clashing and shouting as if it were a knife. He turned and spotted a seven-year-old girl, trembling outside a house made of wood. Her cries for her mother were twisting his heart.
"Wah, wah, wah. Mummy!" she sobbed, her small body quivering like a torn leaf in the place of violence around her. He ran to her, knelt beside her. "Little girl, where is your mother?" he asked, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. But before she could reply, a figure loomed-another bandit, axe raised high, his face distorted in brutal delight. Something snapped inside the captain; he laid his body over hers, preparing for the impact.
But a flash of silver cut through the air, and the bandit froze mid-swing, skewered by a spear that gleamed like moonlight on steel. "Are you all right?" a firm voice asked. The captain looked up, eyes widening. "General Orion!" he exclaimed. General Orion wrenched his spear free of the lifeless bandit and nodded. "Take the girl and fall back-concentrate on the civilian evacuation. We'll take care of the rest." The captain didn't need any further prompting and scooped up the girl in his arms. "I'm taking my leave; stay safe," he shouted as he turned to retreat. The din of clashing warriors erupted once more behind his back, like the incoming tide.
The fight continued, the soldiers and bandits moving in a deadly dance. Then, in a flash of speed, King Axel sprang forward, dodging around General Darius like some shadow dancing through the light. In one swift motion, he swung his spear, deflecting an axe that had been hurtling toward Darius's unguarded side. A short wiry man-just 152.4 cm tall, but oozing menace-stepped from the shadows, his voice rumbling with rough humor.
"What did I tell you, third brother? We should have let loose right from the beginning." A sneer overspread his face like a crack in stone. Another man appeared from behind him, his eyes gleaming with cold malice. "You aren't wrong, second brother. It's not like we had anything to lose, after all." The brothers clapped their hands in unison. "Boys, let's show them a real nightmare," they called out.
As if summoned by some silent command, the bandits that had fallen started to stir; they rose from death's cold kiss with eyes aglow, like coals soaked in blood, their skin waxy and mottled. Stiff, jerking steps carried them forward, soulless puppets animated by some god-awful magic. Their hearts thundered against their chests like war drums, their quickening breaths catching in their throats, cold sweat slicking their skin. Fear clawed at their resolution, threatening to scatter them like leaves before the wind.
While at the palace, Isabella ran from the gate as if her life depended on it, feet doing rapid, rebellious strides, while Drake followed after her. "Hey, Isabella-can't you just wait like your father asked?" he called, a hint of deep concern laced within his tone. She spun to face him, arms crossed, gaze as sharp as a blade.
"Let me ask you this. If one of your parents were at war, just like mine is right now, what would you do?" she pressed. Drake, trying to discourage her, replied in a very dismissive tone. "I'd let them be; it's their choice." Isabella frowned, her disappointment piercing. "I shouldn't have asked an idiot like you," she muttered, marching away from the palace. "Wait, just stay," Drake pleaded, jogging to catch up to her.
Noticing an empty sleigh, Isabella tried to pull herself up into the driver's seat, but it refused to move. "Isabella, just get in the passenger seat and I'll drive the sleigh," Drake insisted, trying to smooth the frustration off her face. She flung him a sideways look before sliding over and letting him take the reins. With a tight grasp on the reins, Drake urged the reindeer forward in as soft a voice as he remembered the old man using: "Whoa, whoa." The sleigh jerked and then it slid-a soft hum against the ground.
By the gate, tension seized tight as hard as silence between soldier and dead. King Axel stepped one pace forward. His courage was fast pouring like grains of sand in an hourglass. "Listen to me," he ordered, his voice cutting through the haze of terror. "These things are not human. They have no minds, no souls; they're weaker than they were in life!" Even as he said it, one of his soldiers screamed, grabbed by an undead bandit that gnawed at his flesh, feasting with inhuman hunger. Panic began to surge, a wave of terror rising.
King Axel's eyes hardened, his spear high as his voice turned to rallying thunder. "Hear me!" he shouted. "These monsters threaten everything that we hold dear-your families, your kingdom! If we falter, they will turn our lives to ashes. Fight not for yourselves, but for those you protect! Pair up, and strike as one!" His words poured strength into them, and their grip on their weapons tightened. United, they surged forward in a wave crashed against the tide of the undead.
With resolve that had been reiterated, his generals descended upon one of the leaders of the undead, while King Axel faced the other. The leaders of the undead bandits, though twisted by the touch of death, remained grimly cunning and their malevolence intact. Thereafter, battle raged, each stroke a spark in the darkness, each cry of defiance a flame against the en
croaching shadow.