"Artorias…?" The Captain asked.

"Artorias, Sir." He corrected. The Captain grunted.

"That's better. You work under Lord Piers?" Artorias nodded in reply. "Alright, you're reporting directly to him today, ask the officer over there for questions. Off you go. Next!"

Artorias huffed as he wandered over to the fresh-faced officer. "Hey. I was told to come talk to you." He grunted.

"That means you're going to be with Lord Piers today. Welcome aboard…?"

"Thanks."

"Oh, I meant… well uh... We've been summoned by the other Lords. There's some great big rally happening soon." He explained. "It sounded big."

"Who's leading the charge?"

"Seems like the other Lords are. Heard that Gwyn himself is commanding everything."

"Gwyn…the Lord of Londo?" Artorias asked. The officer beckoned him over to follow.

"Yeah, says he's going lead a rebellion against the lizards."

"That's suicide!... I'm getting paid for this, right?" The officer stopped in his tracks.

"I hope we all, mate." He chuckled. Artorias shook his head, he turned his head to the right, and saw a large crowd gathering under Piers's banner. A bear roaring at the moon.

"What's his plan?"

"Hopefully Piers will tell us. Join the others, I'll hopefully see you on the field!" The officer sped off, leaving the young warrior on his own.

"Great…" Artorias grunted before joining the back. The crowd grew steadily until it was hard to move about. The crowd's bustling talking and shouting soon turned to hushes and whispers as Lord Piers steps up onto the risen ground. He was a weathered old warrior, but his grey hair betrayed his strong body and poise.

"Brothers and Sisters!" He cried out. "The time has come! My brother in arms, Lord Gwyn, has brought me great news! A way to defeat our stone skinned overlords!" Murmurs erupted from the crowd. Piers nodded vigorously. "My brother has found what will win us freedom!" His fist clenched. "A weapon. Beneath our very feet! It will bring us the light we have sought for so long!"

"A weapon…?" Artorias murmured looking at the ground. Others in the crowd had a similar thought.

"This weapon will bring us the victory, but we are those who wield it, and victory shall be brought by our hands! Come my family, together…" He lifted his blade about his head. "It will be OUR light that banishes this dark!" The crowd cheered, swords and axes in the air. "Come warriors! Onward!"

Artorias stood still, jaw slightly slack. "A weapon, huh? Alright…" The speech left him unsure. "I should've asked if we're getting paid."

Artorias followed the crowd, trying to shrug off people bumping into him constantly and laughing about what they are going to with their unheard of pay. The march lasted for a while, until a banner, in the distance, heralded with a sun, encircled with swords, flew in the distance. That was where Gwyn was, the Lord of Londo himself. Artorias felt a lump in his throat. He had heard stories about this man, this visionary.

He hoped it wasn't another suicidal crusade.

Artorias felt his brow raise when he entered the campsite. The tents were actually of high quality, for the higher ranks anyway. Knights and warriors dressed in silver armour walked about, letting the crowd through. Swords, spears and giant bows littered the side-lines, all of high quality and impressive craftsmanship. "This really is it, isn't it…" Artorias mumbled.

"Ah, Piers!" a voice called out. A well build man, beard grown with splotches of grey, came striding out of the tent. "About time you made it!"

"Apologies, Lord Gwyn. I had to get there spirits up." Piers admitted. "You look well, my friend!"

Gwyn nodded as he replied. Artorias couldn't quite make out what they were saying above the noise. Gwyn and Piers walked over to the new crowd as they conversed. Piers stopped him for a split second, as if wanting to confirm something. Artorias shuffled to the front, just in time for the Lords to speak. "So, this is your legion…" Gwyn sounded unimpressed.

"They…may not be as disciplined as your Silver Knights, but they make up for it by being strong of arm and will… In fact, they are some of the best front line soldiers around." Piers tried to reason. Gwyn began pacing.

"I see. What's your name, son?" Gwyn asked one of the recruits. The fresh-faced teen stuttered as he gave his name. Ben, Artorias thought he heard. "Benjamin here looks a little inexperienced…"

"With all due respect, your last crusade decimated my forces. I lost a lot of men that day, Gwyn." Tension sparked between the two. "How do we know this plan of yours will work?"

"Because it will. Because this is our last chance." He paced forward as he spoke. Piers sighed in frustration. "Do you doubt me, old friend?"

"No… but they do." He answered, pointing to the crowd. The crowd mumbled in agreement. "Tell them. Tell them how we're going to win this."

Gwyn spoke without hesitation "Because I say so. Because they dragon's have been unchallenged for too long. Because your will… each and every one of you, will be the spear that will Pierce their scales, they will know pain and death for the first time. No more, shall we claw around the dirt, no more shall we cower under their wing beats, no more will out towns and villages burn under their brutality." Gwyn spun around. "NO. MORE!"

His Silver Knights behind him cheered in answer, some chanting no more, others his name. Piers' own forces cheered too, much to his surprise. Gwyn turned to him. "Now, let's discuss what we're going to do."

Artorias shuffled around, noticing Ben to his side, eyes hazy with tears. "Hey, Ben?" He looked away. "Don't let what he said get to you." Ben gave a shaky sigh.

"I'm... scared, sir." He spoke in a hushed voice. Artorias nodded.

"Stick with me, I'll get you through this." Artorias placed his hand awkwardly on Ben's shoulder, as if he was unsure if he should. Benjamin gave a wry smile.

Gwyn was brimming with confidence as he looked over his battle plan. The Witch Izalith, the Tribesman Nito stood beside him. Gwyn turned to Piers, who stood opposite. "I need you to protect our rear while we delve into the crevice." Piers opened his mouth in retaliation. "This is a sacred duty; I do not entrust this lightly."

"Gwyn, I've told you, I don't have the forces. My men will be decimated before you even get close to this weapon. Spare me some men, please. My men are not trained for heavy defence. The only ones I have left are all raiders, vanguards. Let us lead the charge."

The others were unmoved. A voice from the back spoke up. "He's right. They're barely an army. And they have a lot of two-handed swordsmen." The young man stepped into the candlelight, long ashen hair seemed to erupt from his small crown, he was covered in golden armour head to toe. His presence was so great even Gwyn himself couldn't help but notice. "They need help, Father."

"Gwynhaul…"

Gwynhaul, firstborn son of Gwyn, stepped forth more. "I'll assist him. My force and his can easily defend for days if we have to."

"When I-We, get this weapon…"

"If."

"…we will have nothing else to fear."

Gwynhaul shook his head. Izalith finally spoke up. "Are you certain this weapon of yours even exists?" Her voice was smooth and warm, but her intent was ice cold and sharp.

"You doubt me, now? Of all times?"

"Why wouldn't we?" She snapped. "Who told you of this "weapon" anyway?"

Gwyn stood straight. "A reliable source."

The tent erupted into laughter; the Witch was beside herself. Gwynhaul and Piers shook their heads. Nito gave a wry smile.

"And this would be…?" Piers asked.

"Irrelevant." Gwyn said with a wave of his hand. Gwynhaul huffed before storming out of the tent.

"Gwyn…"

"Piers. I need you. You shall be the Guardians of the Sun. Your victory will herald the coming of a new age."

Piers looked down at his feet. "You…make it sound as if it's possible." Gwyn nodded.

"Anything is possible. Let your will be your sword." He replied. Piers turned to the exit.

"So we shall see." He replied mournfully.

A smile found it's way on Gwyn's face. "It's really happening."

Piers couldn't decide on what to do. He paced in front of his men before turning to them. "Ladies and Gentlemen. It's time."

A horn blared in the distance. The crowd were beside themselves.

"We walk all this way to guard a door? Why!?"

"It's not like that at all!"

"Why can't we see this weapon?"

"Are we getting paid?"

"Enough! The lot of you!" Piers cut in. "We are going to buy them as much time as we can! Not matter what happens, hold the line!" The crowd was silent. "I don't like this anymore then you do, but…" He turned away, placed his helmet on. "We have no choice."

Piers turned his head towards the marching force, led by Gwyn and his fellow Lords. "I see you're ready." He spoke. Piers shook his head.

"As ready as we'll ever be." He replied solemnly. Gwyn turned to his forces and gave strong beckon.

"Let us be off!" he shouted. "…Goodluck, old friend." Piers patted his back in reply, never taking his eyes of the ground. As the forces marched into the crevice, Gwynhaul broke from the crowd, and placed a hand on Piers shoulder.

"…I'm sorry."

"No." Piers replied. "You've done more than enough. Go get that damn weapon, kid. For all our sakes." Gwynhaul nodded, leaving them on a sombre note. Piers shuffled of the spot. "No one gets past us, boys and girls."

A wave of metal screeching covered the crowds, as swords were drawn. "Can we really kill a dragon?"

"We won't be fighting a dragon."

A sigh a relief from the crowd.

"It'll be them, instead." He finished pointing his sword forward. Across the ashen field, a horde of scales and fangs pierced through the fog at full sprint. "Hold the line!"

The horde drew closer, soon upon them like a scaly shadow.

"Hold it!"

A swift death.

"HOLD!"

Artorias grunted as he swung his sword, cleaving a Dragonkin's head clean off. They came upon them like a fire, devasting and devouring all in their path. He swung as best as he could, but the scaly hides and wild flailing knocked him aside. "Gods…damn it." He grunted, swinging again. A cry from behind him as one of his fellow men were cut down. Too late to save.

Artorias parried a blow with his own sword, the dragonkin's own axe too heavy to defend against, but using the momentum, he darted under the follow up, managing to cleave its stomach open. A swift chop, a severed skull. Artorias ran towards another soldier. It was the young lad, Ben.

"Oi, get to cover!" Artorias shouted, Ben just nodded frantically, but before he could move, he saw the young lads head removed from his body.

Artorias watched his eyes roll back. He let out an enraged growl, and sprang into the air sword first, avenging the fallen soul. Artorias spun in fury and-

His ears rang, his right eye darkened with blood, his scalp bloody and cut. A stray swing from a soldier had nearly took his head off. His cheek was on fire, warm with blood. A great gash had spilt near his lower right cheek. Groaning, he picked up his sword, using it to prop himself up. His ears calmed, his vision focused, and the air was silent.

A wave of corpses littered the field, swords and flags, bloody and broken lay in front of him. "I…how long was I…" he turned to look around, nothing but blood and gore. "…out?"

A cough behind him. Artorias spun around.

Piers.

"Hey, you're alive…" he coughed, blood spattering everywhere. Artorias ran over as quick as he could. "Soldier… you got a name?" Artorias removed his helmet, letting it clatter across the dirt.

"It's me. Sir Piers, I can get you out of here."

"Artorias...? Huh... never thought I'd see you again..."

"I can get you out of here, just hold on..." Artorias repeated.

"No, you can't Artorias… no you can't." he stammered, raised his hand. Soaked to bone with his own blood. "Run. Run while you can."

A bestial roar. A rumble of steps.

"They're coming back…" Artorias felt a hand slap his chest. "Live. For us." Another roar in the distance, closer. "You were a... good kid, you know? Don't... trust…" Piers coughed and gave one last sigh. Artorias clasped the small, silver amulet that Piers gifted him. Blood stained and argent, glistening in the low light.

Another roar.

"I…gotta finish my job first." Artorias seethed. The dragonkin, though fewer in number, came crashing over the hill. "I don't… leave shit half done." Artorias growled, wiping his mouth, still clasping the amulet.

Another roar. Artorias clenched his teeth, summoning as much fury as he could. A swift strike from the front snake man.

Artorias swung wildly, parrying and killing in the same swing.

Another swing, a battle cry. Two more lay beneath his feet.

"Just… keep swinging." He chanted to himself. "Swing goddamn it!"

Another spurt of blood. Another corpse. And then another, and another, until he was in a blood trance, where the ache in his arm faded away, where the pains in his legs faded, until the only sound in his head was his own heartbeat.

Each body of his fellow soldiers was met with a body of a Dragonkin. His sword chipped and cracked, his bones ached, his head felt like it was going to explode from exhaustion and rage.

The Dragonkin screeched in frustration. How was one mere man able to keep an entire horde at bay? No matter what they did, they couldn't get near him. However, time was on their side.

Artorias felt his knees buckle, his broken sword not even being able to hoist him up. The Dragonkin smelt blood and prowled cautiously towards the exhausted warrior. "G…ugh!" He choked on blood and spit. "Of all the days to wake up…" he laughed weakly. "I can still fight." Another burst of adrenaline shot him back up on his feet, but he could hardly keep balance.

The lone dragonkin moved in for the kill. Artorias raised what remained of his sword.

A hiss.

A grunt.

Artorias swung first. The dragonkin screeched as it was flung back into the air, enveloped in what appeared to be…

"Lightning?" Artorias grunted as he fell. A group of figures spread out in front of him.

"Hold this position! We're getting this one to safety." Barked the Ashen haired warrior. A silver clad knight stepped into view, wielding a humungous hammer. "Ledo, clear a path!"

Ledo laughed. "I got something for ya!" he roared, swatting away a group of Dragonkin with no effort. Artorias felt his arm being slung over something.

"Get him on his feet." The warrior came into focus. It was Gwynhaul. He had returned, and slung Artorias' other arm over him. Artorias turned his head, and saw a fiery mane of hair, along with eyes to match.

"We'll get you home." The knight gave a toothy smile. Artorias felt his head droop.

Darkness soon fell upon him…