Light snow was falling from the grey heavens, but no Ancient felt the chill. Their unity kept them warm, kept them focused. The Wise One's eyes were closed. He could see the Castle, and for a moment he was there.
The darkness in the Altar Room was overwhelming. The new leader of the Psychics glared at the deadness that surrounded him. "Keep away." He said. The Leader was crawling across the floor behind him, laughing insanely. Another different Psychic tried to use his powers on one of the Beings. Black tendrils swarmed for his eyes as the glow grew brighter, and he screamed as his eyes were burnt and torn out. The black spread to his veins, making him writh and swarm in agony. The black Aporia covered all the windows and doorways, further darkening the room. The New Leader heard Leader crying, as if his insides were being torn out. Realising he had gone insane, the New Leader brought his sword down on Leader's skull, crushing it. There was a hiss from one of the Beings as it came forward and launched a spear at him. He groaned as the spear lodged into his shoulder blade. His weapon went sliding across the floor, and he realised the only way he could stop himself from being devoured slowly was to use his powers. The tendrils hovered nearby...
The Wise One snapped out of it. The Psychics had been destroyed and left to rot. They would never be what they once were ever again.
The Wise One's eyes opened slowly, and he raised his sword towards the horizon, breaking into a sprint. The Ancients followed suit, weapons clanging against armour.
The ground was shaking, the air filled with the clank and footfalls of armour and weapons. The snow was falling heavier, and an arc of lightning lit the horizons to their left. Everything seemed to slow down as the Wise One exerted himself to sprint up the rise, against the sudden tempest.
The Wise One got to the summit to see organised lines of Beings, with weapons not dissimilar to their own. His eyes narrowed and he tightened the grip on his two-handed sword.
The Ancients came over the ridge behind the Wise One, some yelling defiance at the black masses below. The Wise One's eyes narrowed; his actions meant all or nothing. He wiped any emotion out of his mind and his eyes locked onto a Being. This was the end of all of them, he could see it.
The sudden physical contact with the enemy sent a chill through the Wise One. Within them he could feel an aura like no other, the aura of a true ancient evil. The sound of steel going through flesh broke his thoughts and he found himself hacking and spinning insanely, bits of Beings hitting the floor like rain. Behind him the Ancients were relentlessly pushing the Beings back, violence kicking in. They were using every last ounce of strength and determination to overcome the sheer power they faced.
Above, lightning arched through the skies, lighting up the figures in the battlefield. The ranks of the Ancients had been shattered and blood was spreading across the very ground they fought on. The Beings were also disorganised, but they were hacking the Ancients to pieces with their weapons. The Wise One was descending into a beserk trance as bodies fell around him, limbless.