Shielded Truths.
An enemy force approached.
The battle would be just like any other.
Call the men to the stations.
We'll protect this border town once again.
Huzzah!
Hurrah!
March forth, take you position on the fields!
Infantry scattered in squads!
Archers and artillery take your positions on the towers!
Five infantry squads to each tower!
Cavalry stay closer to the town!
Five calvary per tower!
The men scatter, hurrying to their stations.
The town would be protected.
The fringe barriers would be broken, like always, without casualty to his men.
The commander looked over his troops heading out.
Like a father watching his son leave for war.
He gathers his personal guard.
The troops that would protect the city when the towers were bypassed.
An elite squad of just fifty members.
The best of the best.
With the best leader possible.
The enemy was spotted in the distance.
He lined up his troops in front of the gate, horses and weapons at the ready.
The soldiers of the enemy seemed to seeth forth with a power opposite to the Empire.
This is why they were the enemy.
This is why they were called demonic.
That is why they were labeled the Infernum.
Chaos embodied, destruction given life.
Creatures from the far north and the far south, and deep within the earth.
Jaunted movements.
Screaming battlecries.
Dark powers to rival the Holy strength of the Empire.
Within the throng were darkened soldiers, armed with curved, hooked blades, and decked out in dark plate armor, their archers with barbed arrows and bows reeking of dark power, their strategists teeming of demonic pacts, dark auras abounded within the group.
From the tumultuous horde a small group rode forward on dark horses, the Stallions of Hell.
Five members of the army that acted as the commander of the forces, called the Quintcommanders.
Never before had a single member come forth to show himself as the leader.
But today that changed.
A sixth member rode forwards, on a horse similar to those ridden by Empire commanders.
Clothed darkly, faintly glowing, a hood hid his face from clear view.
A rumble rose from the crowded force, slowly raising in volume.
Malice.
Malice.
Malice.
All raised their weapons, even the Quintcommanders, in seeming to the leader in front of them.
The commander faltered, wondering.
Malice? ... Malice....
Malus...
Impossible.
The man on the Empire steed drew his blade, and took a familiar stance on the horse.
Pointing forwards with an empty yell, he charged off with the army behind him.
The Quintcommanders close behind him.
The comander raised his hand and called a messenger.
The messenger scurried off a few seconds later, hopping on his horse and heading south.
Call for reinforcements.