Hot puffs of steam rolled out into the heavy fog like snow in a blizzard, the rising sun blotted out by the thick atmosphere all around. The groans of the wounded and dying echoed from all around, trembling in the cold. War cries and screams of agony carried on throughout the night, flesh parting and innards spilling shortly after. The sun rose higher in the sky, the thick blanket of mist receding to reveal what it covered across the landscape. Men of all sizes, armor and lack thereof, and ages lie strewn across a gently sloping plain, covered in their own gore and that of their comrades, those left in one piece in equal numbers to those with something cleaved off. Movement was rare among the lawn of corpses, those who did feebly clung to life as they writhed about in the fetal position, ending life as it had begun. In the crisp morning that slowly grew, the dead still steadily grew in three spots on their perimeter, expanding the borders.
In one of the last standing patches of a wheat field, a short being in crimson do-maru and demonic faceplate met the swing of a tired broadsword head-on with their long polearm, knocking the sword back and sending the knight stumbling back with it. The samurai lunged at the exposed swordsmen, plunging their naginata's blade clean through the knight's chest and lifting him up into the air with it, the mail across his back refusing to split. As the knight grunted and dripped blood from the pores of his helmet down on the blood-caked samurai, he was suddenly wheeled around and slammed into the ground, impaled into it as the samurai let off a quick twist of the blade, retching it free and letting loose one last quick spurt of blood across their chest.
At a stony outcropping, a wide, squat being in full plate armor, dulled and buried under several coats of blood, ducked the swing of a bare-chested viking's massive axe, springing ahead and spearing him onto his back. The two scrambled to their feet and eyed each other down, raising his halberd as the viking snickered. With a bellowing shout, the viking brought his axe up and charged at his unarmed adversary. He brought it down with all his might over his adversary's skull, the knight bracing his arms above his head. The blade met the steel bracers and chipped all along the length of it sedge, the knight's feet gouging several inches of earth up as he was pushed back. The knight stepped back and sliced down along the shaft of the axe, the viking squealing in pain as the axe and his fingers dropped to the ground, along with him to his knees with his hands pressed to his abdomen. The viking glared up at his foe as he raised his halberd up before him in both hinds, driving the spike into his throat and out his spine.
In the dew-covered grass that sat at the bottom of the carnage, an imposing, hulkish viking of little armor than his shield and helm, a long, narrow beard on his chin, glared down at his samurai adversary, his face plate lost and katana raised overhead, aiming ahead at the viking. The samurai lunged at the viking, the behemoth swiping up at the samurai with his shield, only for the samurai to duck under the swipe and push his sword ahead blindly. The viking gnashed his teeth in pain, impaled through the side on the katana. Unrelenting, the warrior ripped his sword free before he leapt into the air and twisted around with a cry, cracking the viking across the jaw with a reverse roundhouse. The brute staggered back, the samurai charging in with katana raised to the heavens and shouting incessantly. The viking turned at the last moment and swung his boot up into the warrior's chest, taking him off his feet and stomping him down into the ground under his full weight. Dazed, the samurai could only stare up blankly as the viking jammed his sword down into the samurai's eye, leaving it stand upright before plucking it free and letting loose a few more stabs to his face.
The viking drew his sword once more and caught movement out of the corner of his eye, the brute looking up from under his brow to see the knight and samurai descending on him from each side of the sea of decay. He slowly backed away with shield braced to his chest, eyes flicking between the two, their heads swiveling between him and each other. Soon, all three were on unsoiled ground, mere feet from one another as they waited for one to make a move.
The samurai struck first, kicking high and crashing their shin over the knight's helmet, jarring it to the side and sending the lord to a knee. The samurai then thrust the naginata ahead at the viking, the brute arching to the side to avoid being impaled. The blade swing upward, slicing a crescent into the viking's bicep, holding his bloody arm as the samurai raised the naginata over head. The viking caught the blow with his shield, shooting his foot out into the samurai's stomach and sending them stumbling back. The Viking was forced to backpedal and hide behind his shield as the samurai rained stabs and slices down onto him. Frustrated by his cowardice of hiding behind a shield, the viking reared back and charged into the samurai, bowling them over their shoulders as the warrior, sprung up on one hand and flipped back onto their feet. The viking speared his sword into the ground, cast his shield aside and reached over his shoulder, freeing a massive axe.
The samurai jammed her blade into the earth before her, leaping and swinging around on on her polearm and smashing the soles of her feet into the viking's jaw, making the tower of a man teeter and collapse to his back. The samurai landed on her feet where she began and instinctively turned on her heel to face the knight, ducking down to avoid a huge swipe of his halberd's axe. The samurai shot upright and swung the end of her naginata opposite the blade up into his face, rocking his head back before smashing the top of her shaft over his skull. Blindly, the knight thrust his halberd ahead, the samurai stepping to the side and arching their back to avoid the spike. The samurai rolled down the shaft of the halberd, hand-over-hand, step-by-step, until the warrior had their back to the lord's side. With a hand near the base of the blade, the samurai thrust the naginata up behind themselves, skewering the knight through the arm pit and shoulder.
The knight retched back in pain, only to have the samurai clasp both hands around his helmet and flip him over themselves, driving him onto his shoulder and bending his head and neck awkwardly to the side, the knight folded over himself in a ball. The viking's roar sent the samurai spinning around to meet him, the warrior taken off their feet and limp over the fist of the viking driven into their stomach. The viking grasped the samurai by the back of the head and drove their face down into the dirt. The viking retrieved his axe as the samurai got to their knees, the brute bringing the axe to his side and unloaded it like a bat onto the samurai, the warrior barely blocking the blow with the shaft of their naginata against the axe's. The viking ripped his axe back to him, the bottom of the head hooking the samurai around the back of the neck and hauling them in too. The behemoth swung his knee up with a metallic crack into the samurai's face, the warrior sailing back as their faceplate wedged into the ground at the viking's feet.
The viking let a laugh slip before the knight barreled into him, the viking tumbling several yards down the gentle slop before righting himself on a knee, growling at the chivalrous lord before him. The viking charged up to the knight with his axe crashing down on his skull, the lord intercepting it with his halberd braced up before him. The knight's arms quaked as the blade lowered closer and closer to his face, the lord acting desperately and kicking the giant in the stomach, winding him and draining him of energy to press on. The knight whipped the end of his shaft at the viking's head, a metallic tang hitting the air as the viking's head whipped to the side. The knight cracked him across the other side of the head with right hook that sent him reeling to the other side. The knight brought his fist back and threw it down on the doubled over behemoth once again, only for his fist to be engulfed in the massive paw of the viking. With an upward torque, the knight's wrist snapped and cracked excruciatingly, the lord unable to react as he was hauled into the viking for a clothesline that send his body sailing out from under him. Just as his back hit the ground, the knight's helmet nearly crumpled in on itself as his skull was stomped into the earth.
The knight was not allowed to settle into the small crater his head dug into the dirt as he was dragged a short distance by his ankle. The viking raised his axe high above him to amputate the limb, the lord having none of it as he curled his free leg into his chest and unleashed his steel boot under the chin of the brute. The viking rocked back on his heels, dazed, as the knight dug the spike of his halberd into the ground and hoisted himself up. The viking righted himself and faced the knight as he clubbed his metal fists together, bashing them across the viking's skull and sending his short, iron helm flying off his head, long, gray dreadlocks spilling out over his shoulders. The knight grasped the viking by both shoulders and drove knee into his stomach, ribs cracking and splintering from the blow as blood dripped from his mouth onto the crimson-rusted pauldron of the knight. The Viking lay limp over the knights shoulder, the lord struggling to keep the giant and himself upright as he raised him back by his hair and split his brow with a headbutt.
The viking rocked back once more, the knight turning and reaching for his halberd before he was suddenly crushed, arms pinned to his side. The viking locked him in a bear hug, gritting and growling as he failed to crush his armored foe. He swung his foe to the side and spun himself around as he did so, crashing down onto this opponent with his full weight. Winded and battered, the knight lie under his opponent until the viking pushed back up to his feet. The knight attempted to sit up, the viking cupping the back of his head and unloading a massive uppercut to his seated foe that sent him flopping back and his helmet tumbling down the slop. The giant left his foe to wallow and gasp for air as he retrieved his axe. As the viking returned, the knight had gotten to a knee, head bowed with his hand propped on his knee, heaving for air. The viking rose his axe up high, readying to split his foe's skull in-half.
The slice of flesh hit the air, but it was the viking who howled in pain, falling to a knee as his calf was cut. The knight, surprised to be alive, rose to look at his foe, revealing his rustled, waving brunette hair and thin mustache hooking around the edge of his lips. He looked away from his wounded foe as he heard a high-pitched war shout, looking up to see the samurai using their naginata as a pole vault and rocketing into his chest with both boots, sending him flying back. The samurai then twisted around in several rapid revolutions as they came down on the viking, driving him face-first into the dirt with their fist driving into the back of his skull. The samurai slowly rose to glare down at the crumpled viking, revealing the face of a woman, red-and-black bordered paint making wings around her eyes, long, smooth black hair billowing out from under her kabuto and down to her mid back.
Just as she rose her blade before her face in both hands to drive into the viking, a heavy crack split the air and her shoulder, the blade of a longsword driven through her armor, flesh and bone by several inches. Falling to a knee and gritting in pain, the samurai spun her naginata around and thrust it back under her shoulder, a cry from behind letting her know she hit her mark. The outstretched knight stand motionless, tentatively looking down at the blade that disappeared into his stomach. The long blade slowly slid from his stomach, the knight ripping up ward on his pommel with all his might and freeing the sword from the samurai with a sharp yelp from her, collapsing to his back.
The samurai held her split body, eyes struggling against the weight that burdened them and the darkness that gradually enveloped the corners of her vision. Slowly, a noticeable golden aura enveloped the samurai, color returning to her face as she looked at her hand, her palm spotless of blood. She rose once more, finding the viking slowly stirring and pushing up to his feet, spotless of wounds as he stood before her, eyes opening to reveal them glowing and overtaken in an intense, dark red force. She stepped back from the brute with a sneer, looking over her shoulder to find the blue-glowing knight on his feet with his sword at ready. The samurai's head remained on a swivel, naginata at her side in a vice grip to be swung on any who attacked her. The tension was broken as a deep, booming voice called out, "It appears there was a reason we are the last ones standing."
The woman looked up at the viking, the brute continuing, "Never would I have dreamt that I would meet those whose legacies rival my own. The Devil of the East and the Iron God. Hatsue Hanzo and Gawain. I've heard of your glow pointing you out on battlefields where the fighting is most intense. I see it with my own eyes, and you see how they glow, themselves. The gods have blessed me with a fight worthy of my time."
"Aye, I be. And you, the Butcher. The man who's collected the heads of hundreds, killed the king of Ashfeld in decades past, and forces the rulers since to drink from his silver-lined skull whenever they beg for peace. Sigurd. God give me strength to send you back to Hell where you belong." Gawain responded.
"You're too kind, Sir Gawain, but perhaps the most praise falls onto the both of you. Gawain, the best general of the Iron Legion, he who enveloped an army twice his size and drove another one into a lake to drown in their armor in the span of two days. You, who killed all of the old order of Ashfeld at those battles, ushering in a stronger army of real warriors, not aristocrats who could afford to leave their crops and treat war as a game. It is because of you that pathetic leper, Godric, kept power."
"He is the one chosen by God to rule, I am merely the servant of the Lord's work."
"Bah, fool! And Hatsue, killing the general who had her husband killed on campaign and murdering every dissenter to her coup personally. It was you who drove the Khanate's invasion out on its heels, setting their ships on fire, and burning the entire fleet at sea. You destroyed a massive empire and put the Myre on a collision course with my people's. Tell me, was it worth it now? For the lives of all these men, just to prove to yourself a wife worthy of her husband's title?"
"If I am not mistaken," Hatsue interjected, "all of your men are dead as well. And, just as you over glorify what I've done, I promise you my sword will not be sheathed unless it has your head. Just as it was when it took the head of General Miyamoto."
"You only prove me right, Devil. I've always been curious, how cowardly must your people be to have their greatest warrior be a woman?"
"I've yet to see a viking so well-spoken. Tell me, Sigurd, does eating human brains grant you more intelligence than your kin?" Gawain scoffed.
"It truly depends on the person, not all are bright, so I gain nothing but a full stomach and delicious taste in my mouth. Those who only believe in one god are most meager of meals, hardly enough to sustain a newly walking child." Sigurd replied, grinning as he licked his lips.
"I see now why you don't wear much armor. If your people are anything like you, Sigurd, they consume more brains than they have." Hatsue quipped.
"Your people are far better at thought than fighting from what this shows me, Hatsue." Gawain spat.
"Thought precedes action, Gawain. Your people would know this if they did not rely on God to make all of their decisions for them like sheep. When God leaves them to think for themselves, your people choose to drown."
The spat suddenly stopped, the rumbling of a stampede in the distance had them turn to face a cloud of dust rushing at them. The cloud grew larger and larger as it grew near, lightening to reveal a mauled horde. Men in the brown, burlap garb of peasants were slung over each other's shoulders, being drug along as they were missing limbs, others were skewered, eyes gouged out, heads bleeding and malformed, and those unmarked holding the horror in their facade of what they saw happen to their comrades. As they were within shouting distance, the deafening cries and moans slammed into the warriors, one man left unscathed, save for dirt, rushed up to them, stumbling and falling to his knees before Gawain, grabbing the tassets at his hip and pleading, "Knight, we beg of you! Lord Godric must be alerted immediately, no, all lords must be alerted! No land is safe, God has seen our sins and sent holy retribution upon us in the most unholy way."
Gawain seized the peasant by the collar and hoisted him to his feet, demanding, "What are you on about?"
"The Tervingi."
"What!? How did you come in contact with them?"
"They come from the darkest forests on the outskirts of the empire. An Iron Legion of twenty thousand men went into those forests years ago, we found their bones and skulls nailed to trees in the most obscene, godless manners."
"They've never left those forests before, what have you people done?!"
"Nothing, I swear my life on it! They run over this land and destroy it like rats. We are from the most northern villages of the empire, they have been raiding us for weeks and growing in size. When we met them, one could not dream of such an army. With God as my witness, a million of them are on their way."
"You lie!"
"I do not! They fight like men possessed, without fear or conscience. None had armor, save for a shield, some even fought unclothed entirely. They pierced us with blades that waved like a serpent, split us with long, broad swords, and crushed our heads with oar-like clubs rapped in iron bands. We were over ten thousand, only a few hundred now stand before you." the man gestured to the battered spirits behind him.
"What a shame, you should have all stayed and died to hold them back. At the very least, die with dignity rather than live with the shame of defeat." Hatsue hissed.
"I believe I agree with you, samurai, I see nothing but the weak all around," Sigurd added, taking a deep sniff, "And it wreaks of it, too."
"We've never heard from that expedition of Varus all those years ago into those woods. I have no choice but to believe you. Are you certain it is a million?" Gawain reassured.
"We had the high ground, yet we could not see the rear of their army as it disappeared into the horizon."
"I see." Gawain relinquished, bowing his head to think.
"My people have dealt with the Tervingi before. Savages. I tell you, good sir, the vikings will be proud to crush this band of idiots with our steel." Sigurd proposed.
"Barbarians against barbarians? I fear you'll only see how much you have in common. The samurai have dealt with more organized than the Tervingi in larger numbers and defeated them, with me at their head. Trust me, men, and the Tervingi will trouble none from the time you give me your allegiance." Hatsue countered.
"No," Gawain spoke, "We must not be divisive. An army of such size will roll our empires upon themselves. As much as I detest divulging important information, the Iron Legion is not yet recovered. The most we can muster is fifty thousand. What say you two?"
"Bah, I refuse to open myself up just to be an open target. This is all just a clever trick, but not clever enough, knight." Sigurd blasted.
"Oh, so you have less than what we have?"
"Ha! I see right through your trick, Gawain, but I'll humor you. We vikings fight from the time boys become men, we have the strength of one-hundred thousand men!"
"And what of you, Hatsue?"
"The samurai are equal to that of vikings in numbers, but that is the only breath of a viking being equal to a samurai."
"Your mockery is trying my last nerve, Devil!"
"Silence! I have a plan."
"You do?!" the peasant cried.
"We will all take your place in this fight. We will all go to Godric in Ashfeld, Yuki in Myre, and Magnus in Valkenheim and convince them all to join forces as to smash this invasion."
"There's no time, sir. The Tervingi are perhaps only a day's march behind. They bit at our heels for hours upon routing us but we gradually distanced ourselves and forced a night march. We are exhausted, there will be no time at all before we get to Ashfeld and the enemy will besiege our gates."
Gawain sighed deeply, Sigurd proposing, "Then let us split up alert each empire. That is our best chance of beating these forest beasts."
"It is three days march to Myre and another day and a half to Ashfeld, we will only reach them in time to see Ashfeld razed to the ground."
"I wish to see you propose a better idea, samurai!"
"Given time and patience, a lacking viking quality, and I'm sure I could."
"Enough. You say these men fight most unarmored, some even naked?"
"Aye."
"My mind is made up," Godric muttered, putting his longsword back over his back and strolling over to retrieve his halberd and helmet, raising it high as he shouted, "To all of you tired, weary men! Go to Godric in Ashfeld with my word, he will listen to you. Plead he unite the other rulers and their armies, it is our only hope of stopping such forces."
"What of us then, Gawain? Are we to just sit and wait for the enemy to chew us to bits?" Sigurd asked.
"No. We are marching to meet them."
"You must have a sick desire to be at your God's side soon! I have an eternity to wage war, and it will be I who choose my last violent moments, not you."
"Once more, I have to agree with the Butcher, we are three against millions." Hatsue concurred.
"Numbers only work when used correctly. Their greatest advantage will be their weakness in how slow they move. Just a day's march out, which we surely can complete sooner, these grasslands give way to mountains. The mountain is steep and treacherous, only three safe path runs through it. Only a few men at a time can make it through, parts of it too narrow for even a fox. We simply plug these paths with our bodies for as long as possible and the forces will have time to gather and mobilize." Gawain explained.
"You take me for a fool if you think for a second I would agree to a suicide mission. We wouldn't last a day." Sigurd argued as he walked away, regaining his helm and arms, strolling up the hill to leave them all.
"I have incentive for you both. Our legacies precede us but will die with us and our empires if we do nothing. Why not save them both and elevate our accomplishments to that among the saints?"
Sigurd froze in his tracks, looking down as he demanded, "What are you getting at, knight?"
"I say this. Not only do we become like kings for fighting with our lives to save our empires, but the legacy of the greatest warriors will be shown in who slays the most barbarians. I've killed over a hundred thousand men in armor with my armies. Without them and fighting a naked enemy, I guarantee I will match those casualties."
"You believe I will agree to certain death just to prove my worth as the best warrior in history," Sigurd glared over his shoulder, slowly cracking a grin before laughing and romping down the hill, "You better believe I am the best and this is how I shall show it. The only way they will find me is when I am buried under a mountain of corpses that eclipses the mountain itself. Vikings will finally be the uncontested of the warring empires until the end of time. And it will all be because Sigurd, the mountain slayer."
"You think highly of yourself, viking, but it will be a woman warrior who shows she is every bit as worthy as her male counterparts. I agree, send my regards to my sister Yuki and this as proof of my allegiance to the cause." Hatsue agreed, handing her face plate the peasant man.
"And to my son, Magnus, give him this. The vikings are welcoming to the cause of preserving our people and history." Sigurd reached to his but and pulled out a seax, the handle made of smooth bone and the gray steel etched with ruins.
"I will keep these safe." the man promised, bowing his head and gripping them tightly as he marched on, his men following and flowing around the warriors.
They all looked on as the peasant force marched up the hill and out of sight, the son now high above them and the chill of the dawn turning to comfortable warmth of the day. "Well, we better set out now if we want the privilege of setting up camp tonight. We can only rest once we are at the foothills." Gawain said.
"You have given me no reason to distrust you thus far, knight, save for the sword you cut me with." Hatsue rebuffed.
"I am envious that I didn't draw blood from a mighty samurai and the privilege was granted instead to a peasant in iron." Sigurd scoffed.
"We have plenty of time to insult each other along the way. Let's get going." Gawain ordered.
With that, the warriors turned and strolled down the hill and into the valley, shoulder-to-shoulder. The sun overhead continued its eternal revolution through the sky, near-setting as a gargantuan mountain lie in the dying light. An eclipse of dust was being kicked into the air, a mass of chattering, mangy men covered in blue ink and odd facial hair pressed towards the mountain. A long, high-pitched whistle silenced and halted the humongous horde, a man at their front garbed unlike all the rest. Atop his brunette, waving hair was a golden helm, pearl-white wings atop it like an angel, a well-groomed beard flowing from his ears to his chin and upper lip, the tip of the facial hair at his chest. His chest and back were encased in a bronze cuirass, and red cape cascaded down his left side and back. An elderly, bald peasant was forced with much struggle out to the regal savage's side, hardly able to resist with bound wrists at his back, and was finally wrestled to his knees. He rose a long, solid-iron sword that tapered to a fine point in the air, resting his free arm on the head of the peasant at his side. "Men, we are not the aggressors. We are not savages, nor barbarians," he began, lowering his sword to the deafening cheers of his army, "For too long, have empires ruled over us, come to our lands, and stolen from us. Never have we been given freedom since I was a child and all those before me were children and those before them."
More roars of the crowd silenced him, the warlord continuing, "They came to our forest and kill our friends, our family, rape our women, steal our riches flogged us, and then had the audacity to demand we get them safely through the forest. All because their God allowed them to treat those who did not follow nor hear his word like animals? I led them, alright, straight into an ambush!"
"This is it, my friends, there is no going back to how it used to be, and none of you want that, as plainly as I can see. Today is the mark of the rise of our empire. Today, you men under the leadership of I, Erminaz, will forge the greatest empire this world has ever known. And it will take hold once we drive the empires of the viking, samurai, and those damn knights off the face of the Earth."
Erminaz paused in the silence and brought his sword back like a knife in an underhand grip, putting his free hand to the pommel and jamming it into the peasant's shoulder blade, the tip rupturing out through his chest and dropping him limp as it retracted through his body. "Fellow Tervingi, destiny lies just over that mountain, it will not wait for us and neither shall we. Just as the gods were with us in the forests and when we destroyed those who stood against us just a day ago, they are enamored with us now. None can stand in the path of what is now the will of the gods. Men, to glory!"
Erminaz turned and swung his bloody sword ahead, leading the charge of his hysterically shouting army, trampling the old man into the dirt.
This idea is wholesale inspired by Zivon96's story of the same name. Please support the official release of his original idea.