Chapter 1

The Battle of Nowart

Walter grunted as he pulled his mace from the skull of the Orc he had just killed, producing a sickening squelch as it pulled free of the ravaged tissue and bone. He kicked the limp, kneeling corpse away from himself, and stepped back from the line of battle for a second, to get a better idea of how the battle was progressing.

Things were not looking good, he quickly surmised, his rough features twisting into a frown. His Patriarchal Emissaries, the Ecclesian Empire's finest troops, were holding on by the barest of threads, and stretched far too thin. He saw only 3 infantry standards still waving from the vanguard, which, curiously, appeared to be falling back, despite his orders. They know the cost of giving up their positions, why would Justino order them to retreat? One of the paladin units in the rear line, where he stood currently, had been decimated. His three archer companies and one mortar company were still intact behind the rear line, and firing their weapons as fast as humanly possible. It hardly seemed to make a dent, however, in the two massive armies arrayed against him.

The first of the opposing armies, approaching from the east-southeast, was the Dark Legion. An alliance between the heathen Dark Elves, the porcine, savage Orcs, and the brutish Ogres, all under the iron fist of King Valdemar, the Half-Vampire ruler of Vellond. Their black desert wyverns and mothlike, giant Dirigibles clouded the orange sunset sky above Nowart, and he even heard the braying roar of a Swamp Mammoth in the distance as it undoubtedly spewed torrents of acid on some unfortunate souls. All the while, the Orcs charged in an unorganized horde as the Dark Elves provided ranged and magic support, and the Orc beastmasters sent the giant Scorpions of the southern desert to kill him. They had been the first army to arrive at Nowart to besiege them, but not the only one.

The second army arrayed against the Emissaries, approaching from the west-southwest, was the main Ecclesian Army. He had expected a reprisal for his "treason", but not in such numbers; he was willing to bet at least half of the entire army had arrived. He even saw some Hironeiden Army standards flying, and those of the Elves and Dwarves; clearly, Ecclesia had called in all available allies to deal with him. If circumstances hadn't been so dire, he might have been flattered that His Holiness had deemed him such a threat. The Elves' magic and the Dwarves' explosive weapons filled the air with massive explosions, as the disciplined Ecclesian and Hironeiden troops marched into battle against their foes, knights and heavy infantry bearing the brunt of the assault while ranged and siege units provided covering fire. Despite their obvious objective to kill him, he was rather thankful for their presence; the Dark Legion would have overrun his position hours ago had they not arrived, diverting the bulk of the Dark Legion away from him.

So many men die here today, and throughout this entire God-forsaken war, Walter mused forlornly, and all for some trinket? As he reached down to the satchel at his side, he acknowledged that he knew better than to call the Ancient Heart a mere trinket. It was an artifact of the Devil, resembling some overlarge red gemstone, a ruby perhaps. He had seen its power firsthand. He had watched it slowly corrupt Patriarch Dimitri, ruler of Ecclesia and the most devout man in Bersia. He had watched the Patriarch then use its power to subjugate Regnier, the Lord of Hexter, and propose doing it again to "unite" all of Bersia under the Empire's rule. He had personally nearly fallen to its foul power himself, pushed near to the brink of madness. It was indeed no mere trinket, but even its unholy power seemed trite when one measured the cost to attain it. That was part of the reason he had brought it here, to Nowart: to see the foul relic destroyed, so that no more lives would be taken in its name.

The rulers of Bersia cared not for the cost, however; the tundra of Nowart was now so soaked with blood that Walter doubted it would ever be free of the smell. And there would be yet more shed before the day was through, if the oncoming Ecclesian infantry unit was anything to gauge by.

"Think only of the glory of Heaven!" Walter shouted to his men as the new foe approached. Despite their fatigue and the hopeless situation, his paladins responded with a resounding cheer. It broke Walter's heart to know that so many men with such faith and zeal would die. Even if they were victorious here, they would all be tried and executed. It's unfair, Walter thought for the nth time in the past few months, but if this is the cost of fulfilling the Lord's will, so be it. With that thought, the approaching infantry met with his line, and he gave himself once more to bloody combat.

He swung his flanged mace with fervor, crushing bone and armor and rending flesh. The enemies' own weapons, basic iron longswords, skidded harmlessly off of his ornate steel armor. As he brought his mace to bear on his latest attacker, the man's blood splashed across the metal visage of a lion's head that was mounted to Walter's armor. His shield deflected and absorbed blow after blow, the golden cross upon it becoming scratched and battered. Yet still his shield held, as did the rest of the Emissaries.

"Captain Walter!" he heard one of his adjutants, Lance, shout. Stepping back from the skirmish that was slowly winding down, he turned to see the man running up to him, out of breath. "Captain…" he continued solemnly, "Sir Justino's unit was…."

Walter's stomach churned in rage and grief as a cold feeling ran down his spine. Sir Justino had been one of his closest friends, and possibly the only one left to him after his "betrayal" of Ecclesia. The man had been a paragon of faith, fortitude, and zeal, as well as one of the deadliest warriors he'd ever met. Sir Justino was an exemplar of what an Ecclesian knight should be.

Yet, after everything they had endured together, he was gone.

"Had to rush to the Lord's Kingdom?" Walter whispered wryly, looking to the sky. "Justino, you shameless fool…" he then turned back to his adjutant. "How?"

"General Kendal, sir," Lance replied nervously. "General Kendal and His Holiness had been sighted to the southwest, and Sir Justino volunteered to engage him to buy our vanguard time to fall back to the lines and regroup. They're returning now."

So that is why they were falling back. "Where is General Kendal now?" Walter asked.

"Approaching our position with all haste," his adjutant replied. "He appears to be ignoring the battle almost entirely in his determination to get here."

"How is it going at the Altar entrance?" Walter asked.

"The sappers are almost through," Lance said with a tone of relief. "It should be only a few more minutes now."

"So, this is it, then," Walter sighed. This was where the Emissaries would make their final stand. "Very well. Order the remaining Emissaries to consolidate on my position. If Kendal wants to see to me personally, I will oblige him." Lance saluted in response, before running to the horn signaler and relaying the orders.

Walter had no delusions about his chances of victory. With Kendal himself appearing to deal with him, he was almost assured to die. Kendal, along with Justino, had been one of his oldest friends. They had all joined the Army together, and had remained close friends even after Justino and Walter had been selected for the Emissaries, while Kendal had assumed command of the entire Second Division. Kendal was as much a paragon of knightly virtue as Justino, but even more skilled in the art of war, moreso than either Walter or Justino.

And now, Kendal was here to kill him.

He did not have to wait long. With the bulk of the Ecclesian and Dark Legion armies distracted with each other, very few of their troops actually got through to the Emissaries, allowing Walter to passively survey the carnage. Thus, Walter easily saw Kendal's personal unit standard coming from a near half mile away. Kendal and his knights seemed to be carving a path straight through the center of the battle, much as the prow of a ship cut through the sea; few stood against the onslaught for long. After a few brief minutes, during which Walter uttered a quick prayer for the souls of the Emissaries, Kendal broke through the melee.

The General wore dark steel armor that was only slightly more ornate than those of his own men; he always believed in being grounded and humble. His helmet was currently down, providing an impassive, horned visage to behold. In his left hand, he held a mace not unlike Walter's own, and in his right, he wielded a lucerne warhammer singlehanded. Walter could practically feel the man's rage, even from a hundred feet away. With little delay, he ordered his men forward. The twenty-five man knight company obeyed, and began charging across the gap with Kendal at the head. Behind him, through the gap his knights had created, poured dozens of Ecclesian heavy infantry and paladins.

"Go!" Walter cried to his own paladins, "in the name of the Lord!" With a throaty cry, his own unit charged forward, followed by the remnants of the Emissaries. The two sides met with a thunderous crash, shortly accompanied by shouts of rage and agony.

Kendal met Walter at the very front of the line, and didn't give him a single second to breath. He unleashed on Walter with a furious barrage of strikes with his mace. Walter grunted in effort and mild pain as he struggled to keep his shield in between him and Kendal's mace. The twos' duel was briefly cut off as another dueling paladin and knight blew past them, swinging away just as furiously at each other. Walter used the brief reprieve to gain distance on Kendal.

"Kendal, my old friend," Walter greeted with a strained voice.

"It is a pity that we must reunite like this, Walter," Kendal replied gravely, advancing slowly.

He's being…civil, Walter thought with a glimmer of hope. Perhaps he will listen to reason. "Kendal," he said slowly, "would you willingly serve a Patriarch who disobeys the Lord?"

Kendal's reaction, in hindsight, should have been predictable to Walter: he leapt forward with a furious roar and began his assault anew, this time with his hammer. "You are the one who went against the Lord's will, Walter!" he shouted, seething, as he brought down his hammer against Walter's shield over and over again.

Walter grimaced in pain as Kendal's hammer crashed repeatedly on his shield. Despite the thick shield, and his steel gauntlets, he still felt his bones scream in protest as Kendal's hammer drove into it. The hammer was slower than his mace, however, and Walter found an opening to knock the hammer aside. As he swung his shield sideways, deflecting the incoming blow, he leapt back out of Kendal's range, and spoke once again.

"The Patriarch and I were commanded to bring the Ancient Heart here, and destroy it!" Walter barked, pointing back toward the cave that led to the Altar of Nowart. "It is the Patriarch who has been corrupted by the power of that foul relic! It is he who goes against the Lord's will!" Kendal froze, glancing between Walter and the cave entrance. It was as Walter thought; the Patriarch hadn't told him anything of the Oracle. All that Kendal knew of it had come from Walter's own mouth at the command post near the Altar of Destruction. Kendal had expressed back then that he felt the Patriarch was keeping something from him.

Patriarch Dimitri's paranoia may be my saving grace. Perhaps Kendal may see reason after all. "Kendal," Walter pleaded desperately, "you must see the truth!"

Before Kendal could respond, however, Lance broke through the melee to Walter's right. "Captain Walter!" he shouted, panicked, "Regnier's elite troops are moving to cut us off from the Altar!"

Walter felt a chill run down his spine at the mention of that monster, and a spike of fear in his heart. If his men were cut off from the Altar by Regnier, he would never break through. He would never be able to complete his mission.

"No!" Walter cried, completely forgetting Kendal's presence in his panic. "All Emissaries, fall back to the Altar!"

000

Walter grunted as he shouldered past yet another of Regnier's Orcs, swinging his mace almost absentmindedly as he passed. The Orc fell to the ground, easing Walter's passing. The entrance to the Altar, a crudely carved tunnel, was barely wide enough for three men to stand abreast, and was currently a maelstrom of blood and carnage. Ecclesian soldiers, Regnier's elite Orc heavy infantry, and the last vestiges of the Emissaries fought bitterly for control of the narrow passage. As Walter shouldered past a dueling Ecclesian knight and one of his own paladins, he got his first glimpse of the Altar.

Though to call it an "Altar" would be a bit generous; it was little more than a weathered stone dias with a large, old stone archway that looked to fit five men abreast behind it, and a simple stone block serving as the altar in the center. The archway was filled in with stone however, perhaps a former passage into the altar?

There was no ornate decoration, no holy aura, nothing. The only illumination for the Altar itself was a hole in the ceiling of the cavern. Walter felt a sliver of hope in his mind; the end of this damned mission was at hand. Raising his shield in front of him, he charged shoulder-first through the last dueling pair obstructing his path, one of his paladins and an Orc.

He was relieved to find that three of his own men were holding the end of the tunnel to the Altar. Two of the sappers, and one of his paladins, stood by, ready to strike down any who would gain entry. As Walter ran up to them, they tensed momentarily, before realizing who he was.

"Captain," the paladin said with a salute and an anxious tone, "you must hurry. We cannot hold this passage for much longer."

Walter placed his hand on the paladin's shoulder comfortingly. "Fear not, brother," he said with a warm smile, "the will of the Oracle is almost fulfilled. The Dark Legion's last days are at hand." With that, the paladin stepped back and to the side, allowing him to pass.

Just a few dozen feet in front of him was the Altar. He could make it; his journey was almost-

"Ecclesian!" a deep voice roared from the passage behind him. He shuddered; he recognized that voice. Fearing the worst, he turned back to see the speaker, and his fears were confirmed. Regnier had personally appeared. The (surprisingly) human Lord of Hexter was rather simply dressed; he wore a leather harness on his chest, held together with an ornamental skull buckle. He wore no other clothing besides a simple cloth hood and iron mask, concealing his face, and a loincloth held up by a leather belt. His armor was similarly sparse; a pair of jagged, overlarge iron pauldrons sat atop his shoulders, and simple iron gauntlets and boots made up the rest of it. The man's face was concealed underneath the darkness of the hood and the iron half-mask that concealed his lower face, but even then, Walter could easily tell the man was enraged.

"Stop what you're doing, you fool!" he barked as his body began to glow. Within a second, the glow erupted into open flame. He raised his iron greatsword, the blade itself catching flame, before bringing it down violently. With a thunderous crack, the very earth split open before him, jets of flame racing out. Everything within the passage, both human and Orc, were incinerated immediately. The attack failed to reach the end of the passage, however; Walter and the last three men before the door were all that were left.

"Silence devil!" Walter barked in response as he backed toward the Altar. "Your foul existence ends today!"

Regnier roared as he took off down the passage with frightening speed. Walter quickly turned back around and began jogging toward the Altar. He winced as he heard the first of the guards die; a quick crunching sound, followed by an agonizing shriek. As he reached the Altar, he heard the next one die; the sound of roaring flame, and the prolonged screaming of a man burned alive. As he stepped up onto the dais, he heard the sound of rending metal and a pained grunt. Walter turned around as he reached the Altar itself, to see the limp form of the paladin impaled on the end of Regnier's sword. The Lord of Hexter casually ripped the corpse from his blade, discarding it like so much refuse, and turned to Walter, who was placing the Ancient Heart upon the Altar, his back turned to Regnier.

"Stop, you insufferable idiot!" Regnier cried, a hint of panic in his voice. "Do you have any idea what you're about to do!?"

As Walter raised his mace, he turned his head enough to see Regnier. Why wasn't he attacking? Was he afraid of destroying the Heart himself? "Bringing new life to Bersia," Walter replied with a tone of finality. Then, he brought down his mace on the Heart.

He barely registered Regnier's scream of denial as he watched the Heart shatter. Previously indestructible, the Heart broke apart like glass when it was struck on the Altar. The fist sized gem broke into dozens of particles, which seemed to break down further as Walter watched, until all that remained was a fine red dust.

Walter turned to smile smugly at Regnier, only to drop to his knee in pain; a tremendous spike of agony shot through his being, and a skull-like, ghastly visage flitted across his vision.

"No," Regnier whispered in despair, looking through the hole in the roof, before collapsing to his knees. "The Age of Light has ended."

Walter gazed at the man, confused. Age of Light? What is he… as he followed Regnier's gaze, however, his heart dropped into his stomach. Something had gone very, very wrong.

Walter hadn't known what to expect when he destroyed the Ancient Heart, but the last thing he expected was for it to summon some…monstrosity. For that was surely what the colossus floating above Nowart was, some sort of monster.

"W-what is…" Walter stuttered, confused, "I-I don't…"

"Encablossa," Regnier lamented, still on his knees. "The Age of Dark has come."

"Encablossa" as Regnier had named the monstrosity, was a colossal, black entity with no discernible limbs. Its black, leathery hide was covered in enormous spikes, and what looked to be sores or pustules. Atop its vaguely cocoon-shaped body was a long neck, supporting a skull-like head, from which two gigantic horns sprung horizontally.

Walter watched in horror as a dark fog began spreading from the bottom of Encablossa. The faint signs of battle outside died down as the fog spread. Soon, it appeared as though the sun had set prematurely; it was as dark as night outside. Encablossa then began "inhaling" deeply. Walter felt the very air around him pulling upward, and soon had to grab hold of the edge of the Altar itself to avoid being sucked into the air. He watched in horror as the soldiers outside were not so lucky; thousands upon thousands of the troops outside, with no discrimination as to what side they were on, were sucked into the air. The sores on Encablossa's skin opened up, and the helpless soldiers were sucked into the colossus.

Before Walter could verbally question exactly what Encablossa was doing, he got his answer. Encablossa erupted into eerie blue flames, the fell light casting twisted shadows around Walter. Its empty eye sockets burst into flame as well, and the creature seemed to smile a sick, twisted grin. Then, the sores on its body reopened, and all hell broke loose.

Thousands of smaller monstrosities began pouring from the open sores. They were uniform in appearance; a long, almost serpentine body supported by two comically small wings and two long, misshapen arms, tipped in three sharp claws. The tail end of the body tucked underneath, almost resembling some sort of twisted wasp. The tail itself was tipped in what appeared to be a skull, surrounded by three long, sharp claws that flexed not unlike fingers. The head of the creature look similar to Encablossa's: the twisted visage of a skull, though without the horns. The creatures fluttered quickly to the ground, and Walter heard the pained, panicked cries of the remaining troops outside of the Altar as the monsters set into them.

"Walter, what have you done?" a voice cried from the entrance to the Altar. Looking back down, he beheld Kendal, staring through the skylight, clearly aghast.

"I-I don't…" Walter stammered, his mind racing. This is not what was promised! This is not what the Oracle said!

"He has doomed us all," Regnier growled, getting to his feet. He then turned his back on the both of them and began striding away from the Altar. "Issue a full retreat! We will need every soldier available in the coming days!" he barked back down the passage to his Orcs, before disappearing.

"Walter," Kendal said in a low, dangerous voice. "What. Have. You. Done?"

Walter couldn't answer, however. He stared, transfixed, at the eerily blazing form of Encablossa above him, mesmerized in horror at the screaming from outside. He couldn't process this. He stumbled away from the Altar and Kendall, backing slowly and numbly toward the archway, all the while trying to figure out what had gone wrong. Did they hear the Oracle wrong? No, that wasn't it. Did they find a decoy, some foul trick by the Dark Legion? Was the presence of Regnier at the Altar enough to change what the Heart's destruction was supposed to do?

His panicked theorization was cut short as he neared the archway, however. When he was within an arms length of it, the archway suddenly burst to life. The stone immediately crumbled away, replaced by a shimmering curtain of blue light. A tendril of that light reached out to Walter and seized hold of him, then began dragging him toward it. Walter tried to fight it briefly, but soon realized it was futile; its pull was far too strong. As the magic pulled him into the archway by his arm, he turned back to Kendal, who was staring at him in shock.

"I'm sorry," Walter said, his voice breaking, before he was pulled totally into the light.