Chapter 1: Battle of Gettysburg Part 1
The First Empire, commonly known as the Old Empire of Sadera, was a pre-industrial civilization that existed in the mystical realm of Terra Magika, a dimension apart from our own yet strikingly similar in many ways to Earth's ancient Roman Empire. Situated on the vast continent of Falmart, the First Empire was founded by a warrior-king whose ambition knew no bounds. From its inception, the Empire was defined by its militant and chauvinistic culture, driven by a belief in the inherent superiority of its citizens—primarily humans—over the demihuman races that inhabited the lands around it.
The early years of the Empire were marked by constant warfare. The Saderans were relentless in their pursuit of expansion, driven by a combination of religious zeal and a desire for plunder. The imperial legions, equipped with swords, shields, and a variety of siege weapons, were unmatched in their discipline and military prowess. Over time, the Empire systematically conquered and absorbed all neighboring kingdoms, city-states, and tribal lands, converting them into provinces under direct imperial control. The conquered peoples were either enslaved or forced into subservience, with particularly harsh treatment reserved for demihumans, who were often sold into slavery or exterminated outright.
The Imperial Capital, Sadera, was the heart of this vast empire. Located strategically south of the Rho River, east of the Dumas Mountains, and north of the Blue Sea, Sadera was a city of grandeur, filled with marble palaces, towering statues of the gods, and bustling marketplaces. It was a symbol of imperial might and the center of the Empire's political and cultural life.
At its zenith, the First Empire spanned more than half of the continent of Falmart. The Empire's borders extended from the frozen northern mountain ranges to the warm southern coasts of the Blue Sea, and from the arid deserts in the west to the dense forests and rugged mountain ranges in the far northeast. The Empire's territory covered a distance of approximately 8,000 kilometers, making it one of the largest empires in history, comparable in size to the Mongol Empire on Earth.
The Empire's expansion was fueled by a desire for resources, slaves, and glory. The imperial legions were supported by a complex system of roads and fortresses, allowing for rapid deployment of troops and efficient administration of the provinces. Each newly conquered territory was stripped of its wealth, its local rulers replaced by governors appointed by the emperor, and its people subjected to harsh imperial rule. The Empire's economy was heavily reliant on slave labor, with millions of demihumans and humans alike forced to work in mines, fields, and workshops to support the imperial war machine.
The Saderans saw themselves as the chosen people, destined to rule the world. This belief was reinforced by the Empire's state religion, which worshiped a pantheon of twelve gods who were believed to have granted the Saderans their superiority over other races. The emperor was seen as the divine representative of the gods on Earth, and his word was law. The imperial government was a highly centralized and autocratic system, with power concentrated in the hands of the emperor and his closest advisors, the Senate, and the priesthood.
Despite its vast size and power, the Empire was not without its challenges. The sheer size of the Empire made it difficult to govern, and rebellions were a constant threat. The Empire's military was stretched thin, with legions stationed in distant provinces often isolated and vulnerable to attack. Corruption was rampant within the imperial bureaucracy, and the gap between the rich and the poor grew ever wider. The ruling class lived in luxury, while the common people toiled in poverty.
In the year 687 of the Imperial Calendar, the Empire of Sadera embarked on an ambitious project that would ultimately lead to its downfall. The emperor, driven by a desire for even greater power and wealth, ordered the construction of a Dimensional Gate, a magical portal that would allow the Empire to access other worlds. The Saderan priests and magicians, after years of research and ritual, successfully opened the Gate on the Holy Hill of Alnus, a sacred site believed to be the birthplace of the gods.
The emperor's plan was to use the Gate to conquer new lands and bring even more wealth and slaves into the Empire. However, what the Saderans encountered on the other side of the Gate was not a world ripe for conquest, but a nightmare beyond their imagination. The Gate opened to the homeworld of the Arachnids, a terrifying insectoid race controlled by a Hive Mind. The Arachnids, driven by an insatiable hunger for conquest and destruction, swarmed through the Gate and attacked the Empire with relentless ferocity.
The Arachnids were unlike any enemy the Empire had ever faced. Their Warrior Bugs, the primary soldiers of the Hive, were enormous, with exoskeletons so tough that even the Empire's strongest weapons could barely harm them. The Empire's medieval armies, equipped with swords, spears, and arrows, were no match for the Arachnid horde. Entire legions were wiped out in a matter of hours, their soldiers slaughtered or consumed by the ravenous creatures.
The situation grew dire as the Arachnids advanced across Falmart, leaving destruction in their wake. The Empire's cities and fortresses fell one by one, and it became clear that the Empire was facing annihilation. In desperation, the emperor and the high priests prayed to the gods for salvation. The gods, moved by the suffering of their followers and the threat posed by the Arachnids, decided to intervene directly.
Using most of their divine power, the twelve gods blessed an army of 200,000 men, composed of both humans and demihumans, with superhuman strength, speed, and regeneration. These blessed warriors, known as the Army of Light, were led by the twelve immortal Apostles, each riding a massive flame dragon. The Army of Light was the Empire's last hope against the Arachnid invasion.
The Arachnid War, as it came to be known, was a conflict of unimaginable scale and brutality. The Army of Light, despite their divine blessings, faced an enemy that seemed unstoppable. The Arachnids were relentless, their numbers seemingly endless, and their Hive Mind directed their every move with terrifying precision. The battles were fierce and bloody, with entire regions reduced to wastelands in the struggle.
Against all odds, the Army of Light managed to push the Arachnids back to the Gate. In a final, desperate battle, the Apostles and their warriors fought their way to the Gate and destroyed it, cutting off the Arachnids from their homeworld and preventing any more of the creatures from entering Falmart. The victory came at a terrible cost: less than 300 men of the original 200,000-strong army survived, and the Empire was left in ruins.
The destruction of the Dimensional Gate marked the end of the Arachnid War, but the Empire of Sadera was shattered beyond repair. The Empire's military, once the most powerful force on the continent, was decimated. Ninety percent of the imperial legions were destroyed, and the survivors were broken and demoralized. The economy, heavily reliant on the plunder of conquered lands and the labor of millions of slaves, collapsed as entire regions were depopulated and the infrastructure was left in ruins.
Empress Pina Co Lada, who ascended to the throne after the death of her father during the war, recognized the gravity of the situation. In a speech to the Senate and the people of Sadera, she declared that it would take at least a century for the Empire to recover from the devastation. However, the reality was even bleaker. The Empire, once the undisputed hegemon of Falmart, was now a shadow of its former self. The central government struggled to maintain control over the distant provinces, and rebellions and uprisings became increasingly common.
As the Empire's power waned, its vassal states and neighboring kingdoms seized the opportunity to assert their independence. One by one, the Empire's provinces declared their autonomy, breaking away from Sadera and forming their own independent nations. The Empire, once united and strong, fractured into dozens of smaller states, each vying for power and territory in the chaotic aftermath of the war.
The collapse of the First Empire was not a sudden event, but a slow and painful process that took place over the course of two centuries. The central authority in Sadera gradually weakened, and the once-mighty imperial legions became little more than local militias, unable to project power beyond their immediate surroundings. The Empire's culture and society, once proud and dominant, became increasingly insular and defensive, as the people of Sadera turned inward, focusing on survival rather than conquest.
By the end of this period of decline, the First Empire was no more. What remained of the imperial government was a pale imitation of its former self, and the once-great city of Sadera was a decaying relic of a bygone era. The First Empire, which had once aspired to rule the world, had fallen into obscurity, remembered only in the legends and histories of the nations that had emerged from its ashes.
Four hudred years after the Arachnid War, in the year 1087 of the Imperial Calendar, a new power emerged in Falmart: the Second Empire of Sadera.
Unlike the First Empire, which had been driven by religious zeal and a belief in the inherent superiority of its citizens, the Second Empire was dominated by the Blessed Ones—the descendants of the warriors who had fought in the Arachnid War and inherited their superhuman strength, speed, and regenerative abilities.
Over the course of the next centuries, the bloodline of the Blessed Ones grew to dominate the population of the Empire, constituting over 90 percent of its people. This was not achieved through natural population growth but through a systematic and brutal program of forced breeding. The Blessed Ones, driven by their insatiable desire for power and dominance, engaged in mass rape and conquest wars, using their superhuman abilities to subjugate and breed with the populations they conquered.
The result was a society where the Blessed Ones ruled with an iron fist, their superior abilities ensuring that they remained at the top of the social hierarchy. The imperial legions, once composed of ordinary soldiers, were now filled with Blessed Ones who could single-handedly decimate entire armies. The conquests of the Second Empire were marked by unprecedented brutality, with entire populations slaughtered or enslaved to serve the Empire's needs. Those who resisted were exterminated, their lands razed to the ground, and their people subjected to the same fate as all others—enslavement or breeding stock.
The Empire's relentless expansion was driven by a desire not just for territory but for genetic superiority. The Blessed Ones believed that their bloodline was destined to rule over all others, and they sought to spread their seed across the continent of Falmart and beyond. The imperial government, dominated by the Blessed Ones and their allies, actively encouraged this policy, seeing it as a means of ensuring the Empire's dominance for generations to come.
As the Empire expanded, it became increasingly autocratic and militaristic. The Senate, once a body of debate and discussion, became little more than a rubber stamp for the emperor's decrees. The emperor himself, always a Blessed One, was seen as a living god, his word absolute. The Empire's state religion, which had once worshiped a pantheon of gods, now centered around the worship of the Blessed Ones themselves, who were seen as the chosen people destined to lead humanity into a new era of greatness.
Despite the Empire's brutality, it was also a period of great technological advancement. The Empire embraced the beginnings of an industrial revolution, transforming its economy and military. The imperial legions were now equipped with steel armor and weapons of unprecedented quality, and the Empire's cities were filled with workshops and factories that produced everything from textiles to simple machinery. However, this technological progress only served to further the Empire's ambitions of conquest, as it sought to use its new tools to dominate the known world.
When reports came in of a new Dimensional Gate opening on the Holy Hill of Alnus in the year 1687 —the same site where the Arachnid invasion had begun a thousand years earlier—the Empire's leaders were faced with a momentous decision. The debate within the Senate was fierce. Some argued that the Empire should close the Gate immediately, fearing a repeat of the Arachnid War. Others, however, saw the Gate as an opportunity to expand the Empire's territory and power even further, perhaps even to find new worlds to conquer and subjugate.
In the end, the decision was made to send an expedition through the Gate, to explore what lay beyond and determine whether it posed a threat or an opportunity. The emperor, confident in the superiority of the Blessed Ones, declared that the Empire would not only explore the new world but would conquer it, adding yet another realm to the ever-growing dominion of the Second Empire.
The imperial legions, led by the most powerful of the Blessed Ones, marched through the Gate with confidence, certain that no enemy could stand against their might. The horrors of the Arachnid War had long been forgotten, replaced by a new sense of invincibility and a belief in the Empire's manifest destiny to rule over all creation. However, what lay on the other side of the Gate would soon challenge even the might of the Second Empire, setting the stage for a new and even more devastating conflict.
Gettysburg - USA
On the morning of July 1, 1863, as the first rays of sunlight touched the town of Gettysburg, Brigadier General John Buford stood watch over the rolling fields from his position atop Seminary Ridge. The day was already pregnant with tension. Buford, with his Union cavalry division, was acutely aware that they were the thin line standing between the advancing Confederate forces and the strategically vital high ground south of town. His experienced eyes scanned the horizon, the morning mist still clinging to the earth like the breath of some ancient, sleeping beast. But what would unfold on this day was something far beyond the calculations of war, beyond even the nightmares of those who had seen too many battles.
Buford had positioned his men along the natural elevations of Herr Ridge, McPherson Ridge, and Seminary Ridge, three undulating lines of defense that gave him a commanding view of the approaching enemy. The plan was simple: delay the Confederate advance long enough for Major General George G. Meade's infantry to arrive and fortify the defensible high ground south of Gettysburg—Cemetery Hill, Cemetery Ridge, and Culp's Hill. In war, especially this one, high ground was everything. Buford knew that if the Confederates seized those heights first, the Union would face an uphill battle—literally and figuratively—in dislodging them.
The air was thick with anticipation, the quiet before the storm. The previous day, Confederate forces had clashed briefly with Union cavalry, but under the mistaken belief that they were facing a disorganized militia, not the seasoned regulars of the Army of the Potomac. Buford, ever the pragmatist, knew better. He understood that this was no ordinary skirmish—this was the beginning of a battle that could determine the fate of the entire war.
But as the Confederate forces began their approach, something strange appeared on the horizon. At first, it seemed like a trick of the light, a mirage created by the morning haze. But then the earth itself began to tremble—a low, ominous rumble that seemed to vibrate up through Buford's boots, through the bones in his legs, and into the pit of his stomach. The air shimmered and warped, as if reality itself was bending, contorting under some immense pressure. The soldiers around Buford exchanged nervous glances, their faces pale with fear and confusion. This was not the enemy they had been expecting.
Without warning, the ground in front of the Confederate lines exploded in a blinding flash of light. The flash was so intense it seemed to sear the very air, followed by a deafening roar that shook the earth. The sound was unlike anything Buford had ever heard—a deep, monstrous noise that reverberated from the bowels of the earth. Union soldiers instinctively ducked, shielding their eyes from the light, while their horses reared and whinnied in panic, nearly throwing their riders.
When the light faded and the roar subsided, Buford and his men found themselves staring at an impossible sight. The Union First Cavalry Division stood frozen, their eyes wide with disbelief, as a massive marble structure materialized on the battlefield. Towering and ancient, it resembled a colossal Stonehenge, but more menacing, more alien. The edifice had ten massive gates, each more than 16 meters wide, set into its stone surface. It was as if the earth had been split open, and some ancient force had thrust this impossibility into the world.
Colonel William Gamble, still reeling from the blinding light and deafening roar that had preceded the structure's appearance, muttered to himself, "Oh God, there are men coming from that… thing."
Buford, ever the keen observer, squinted into the distance, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Emerging from the gates were figures clad in what seemed like ancient armor, their forms both unfamiliar and fearsome. These were not soldiers of the Confederate army, nor of any army Buford had ever known.
The men marching out of the structure were dressed as knights of old, but with an almost demonic twist. They were encased in full plate armor that gleamed in the morning sun, each plate looking as if it weighed as much as a man. Their red capes billowed behind them, a stark contrast to the silver of their armor, and they carried massive spears, the tips shining with a deadly glint. The spears were unlike any weapon Buford had seen, the tips barbed and wicked, gleaming with some malevolent energy. Their rectangular shields were so large they could cover a man from head to toe, and they moved with a disciplined precision, their armor clanking in a rhythm that sent shivers down the spines of the Union soldiers watching them.
But it wasn't just the foot soldiers that caused unease. Riding out from the gates was a figure that seemed to command the strange army. This knight wore a long white cape that flowed like a river behind him, a plume of blood-red rising proudly from his helmet. His mount was not a horse but a creature that defied description, something out of nightmare rather than nature.
The beast, which the American soldiers would soon come to know as a "rhinoraptor," was an abomination of nature and nightmare. It was massive, easily three to four meters long, and weighed between 600 to 1,000 kilograms. Its body was covered in thick, plated armor, every inch of it designed for battle. The skull featured a massive horn approximately one meter long, curving forward like the blade of some terrible scythe. Its eyes burned with an unnatural intelligence, something more than animal, something almost cruel.
The creature had six powerful legs, each ending in four hooves, built for both speed and crushing power. It moved with a terrifying grace, its armor clanking with every step, and despite its size, it was fast—faster than any horse, and capable of carrying ten times the weight. The Union soldiers didn't know what to call this monster, but the horn on its head made them think of a rhinoceros, so they called it the "Rhino," though that name would soon seem woefully inadequate for the horror it could unleash.
As more of these rhinoraptors poured through the gates, each one bearing a knight in full battle regalia, the air grew thick with the smell of sulfur and iron. The knights' eyes, visible through the slits in their helmets, glowed with an eerie, unnatural light, as if some malevolent force drove them forward. Their breaths, hissing through their helmets, echoed like the whispers of damned souls.
Buford's mind raced as he tried to comprehend what he was witnessing. These were not mere men—they were like something out of a legend, an army from another world. The realization struck him like a blow: this was no ordinary battle. This was something beyond the scope of his understanding, a nightmare that had stepped out of the annals of history and into the present.
As the Saderan knights advanced, the ground seemed to tremble beneath the weight of their mounts, the very earth groaning under the strain. The Union soldiers could only stare in horrified awe as these creatures approached, their hooves pounding the earth like war drums, their armored riders bristling with weapons that seemed too massive for a man to wield.
The soldiers around Buford whispered in fear and awe, their confidence shaken. They had come to Gettysburg expecting to face the Confederate army, but now they were confronted with an enemy that seemed to have walked straight out of the past—or perhaps from another world entirely.
"Steady, men! Steady!" Buford barked, his voice a sharp contrast to the rising panic among his troops. He knew that if they broke now, if they ran in fear, there would be no stopping this army, no halting the tide of this monstrous invasion.
But it was hard to hold the line. The sight of these knights, each one clad in 250 kilograms of impenetrable armor, riding beasts that seemed forged in hell, was enough to shake the resolve of even the most battle-hardened veteran. The air was thick with the sound of clanking metal, the heavy footfalls of the rhinoraptors, and the guttural growls that seemed to emanate from both the beasts and their riders.
Little did the Union soldiers know that they were facing the Saderan Imperial Army, a force that had once conquered entire continent with their blend of magic and steel. The Saderans were not merely an army—they were a plague, sweeping through civilizations, leaving nothing but ruin in their wake. This was an invasion unlike any the Union had anticipated—a clash not just of armies, but of realities.
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The early morning sun bathed the rolling hills of Pennsylvania in a golden light as Major General Henry Heth's division advanced toward Gettysburg. The soldiers of the Confederate Army of Northern Virginia, hardened by months of brutal campaigning, marched forward with grim determination, their boots crunching over the rocky ground. Major William J. Pegram's artillery battalion led the column, an unconventional decision by Heth, who believed a swift, powerful blow from his cannons could break the enemy before they even had a chance to fight.
As the Confederate soldiers crested a ridge, what they saw brought them to an abrupt halt.
Ahead, where there had been nothing but open fields just hours before, stood a massive structure of marble, its towering gates resembling a colossal Stonehenge. The sight defied logic, and the soldiers could only stare in disbelief as an army began to emerge from the structure. This was no ordinary force—the men marching out were clad in full plate armor, the polished steel gleaming in the morning light. The bulk of the force were legionaries, each carrying a massive scutum shield, constructed from thick, mid-grade steel, weighing over 100 kilograms. Their armor, also made of steel, was 20mm thick in places, rendering them nearly impervious to the weapons of the era.
Among them rode knights, not on horses, but atop fearsome creatures that sent a wave of dread through the Confederate ranks. The knights atop them, clad in 250 kilograms of impenetrable steel armor, were a vision of death itself, their lances like spears of doom pointed at the Confederate lines.
"Good God, what in the hell is that?" Heth muttered, his eyes widening as he took in the sight before him.
The soldiers emerging from the structure were imposing, each one towering over the Confederate men. The heavy steel scutums and full plate armor the legionaries wore should have made movement difficult, if not impossible, but they marched with ease, their immense strength evident in every step. The knights, astride their massive rhinoraptors, were even more terrifying, their lances pointed skyward, ready to bring death to any who opposed them.
"They look like something out of a nightmare," an officer whispered, the fear palpable in his voice.
Heth knew they had to act quickly. Whatever these beings were, they were enemies. "Artillery, fire at will!" he ordered, his voice cutting through the confusion that held his men in place.
Pegram's artillery responded swiftly. The cannons roared to life, the ground shaking with the force of the blasts. The Confederate 12-pounder Napoleons, capable of delivering devastating blows, hurled shells towards the advancing knights and legionaries. Dozens of Saderan soldiers were caught in the explosions, their bodies torn apart by the deadly shrapnel.
But when the smoke cleared, the sight that met the Confederate soldiers sent a chill down their spines.
The Saderan knights and legionaries continued their march, unperturbed by the explosions. The thick steel scutums had absorbed much of the shrapnel, their surfaces marred but not penetrated. The ground was littered with the bodies of those few unlucky knights and legionaries who had fallen, but the vast majority pressed forward, their ranks unbroken.
"Impossible," one soldier gasped, watching as the knights and legionaries pressed forward, their shields locked together in an impenetrable wall of steel.
"Infantry, open fire!" Heth commanded, desperate to stop the advance. The men raised their British Pattern 1853 Enfield rifles, aiming for the knights' visors and gaps in the legionaries' armor. The air was filled with the sharp cracks of gunfire as the Confederates unleashed a volley of bullets at the enemy.
But to their horror, the .550 caliber conical bullets simply bounced off the Saderan armor, clattering harmlessly to the ground. The armor was thick, made of steel, and although not invincible, it was more than enough to render the rifles ineffective at all but the closest range.
"Damn it, keep firing!" Brigadier General Davis shouted, his voice thick with panic. "We've got to bring them down!"
But the men knew it was futile. They had faced death before, but never like this. These legionaries and knights were nearly invincible, their armor and shields making them impervious to the weapons of the time.
The Confederate artillery continued its bombardment, desperate to halt the Saderan advance. The 12-pounder Napoleons, renowned for their effectiveness in close combat, sent round after round into the ranks of the knights and legionaries. Dozens more fell, their armor crushed by the sheer force of the explosions. Yet, the tide of steel did not falter.
As the Confederate soldiers continued to fire in vain, the Saderan archers moved into position. These archers, with their enormous longbows, were the epitome of precision and power. The steel bows, with a draw weight of 1800 pounds, were designed to launch steel arrows that weighed ten times as much as a normal arrow. The archers, aided by wind magic, had a 50% chance of hitting a human-sized target at 300 meters—a feat unheard of in any archer force on Earth.
With a silent command, the archers loosed their first volley.
The sky darkened as tens of thousands of steel arrows blotted out the sun, descending upon the Confederate lines like a storm of death. The arrows struck with horrifying force, piercing through the soldiers' bodies, tearing through bone, and punching through fabric and flesh as if it were paper.
Men screamed as they were impaled where they stood, blood spraying into the air. Those who weren't killed outright were thrown back by the sheer force of the impact, their bodies shattered by the heavy steel projectiles. Within moments, the ground was littered with the dead and dying, the Confederate lines decimated by the deadly rain of arrows.
Brigadier General James J. Archer was among the first to fall, a steel arrow driving through his chest, pinning him to the earth. His men, witnessing their leader's swift demise, broke ranks, panic overtaking their discipline.
"Fall back! Fall back!" Heth's voice, now filled with desperation, echoed across the battlefield as he realized the extent of the disaster.
But retreat was not an option. The Saderan knights spurred their rhinoraptors forward, their lances leveled as they prepared to charge. The legionaries, their ranks unbroken and their pace relentless, continued their advance. Despite the 500 kilograms of equipment each legionary carried, they marched at an incredible 12 kilometers per hour, showing their superhuman strength and endurance. Their shields, each a deadly weapon in its own right, were used to bash aside any Confederate soldiers who dared to stand in their way. The legionaries swung their massive shields with devastating force, crushing skulls and shattering bones with every blow.
"General, we must retreat!" an officer shouted, grabbing Heth's arm. "We can't stop them!"
Heth looked around at the chaos unfolding before him, the proud Army of Northern Virginia reduced to a terrified, fleeing mob. He knew they had no choice. "Sound the retreat!" he ordered, his voice trembling with the weight of defeat.
As the bugle call rang out, the Confederate soldiers turned and fled, their once proud ranks now a broken mass of humanity. Men threw down their rifles, their hands too shaky to hold them, and ran for their lives. The battle was lost, and survival was all that mattered.
The Saderan knights, sensing the enemy's weakness, pressed their advantage. The rhinoraptors, their powerful limbs propelling them forward with terrifying speed, plowed through the fleeing Confederates like a whirlwind of death. The knights' lances skewered soldiers as they rode down the retreating men, their armor impervious to the desperate shots fired at them.
The legionaries, moving at a steady pace, their ranks unwavering, cut down any Confederate soldiers who lagged behind. The steel scutums formed an unbreakable wall, pushing forward with relentless determination. The knights' and legionaries' strength, coupled with their near-invulnerable armor, made them unstoppable.
Heth watched in despair as his men were slaughtered. The Confederate artillery continued to fire, but it was a losing battle. The 12-pounder Napoleons managed to take down a few more knights and legionaries, but for every one that fell, a dozen more took its place. The Confederate infantry, unable to penetrate the knights' and legionaries' armor, was forced to retreat, leaving the battlefield littered with the dead and dying.
The Saderan archers continued to rain death upon the fleeing soldiers. Their steel arrows, propelled by wind magic, struck with deadly accuracy, cutting down men as they ran. The Confederate lines were in complete disarray, the soldiers unable to regroup or form any kind of effective resistance.
Heth knew there was no hope of victory. The enemy was too powerful, their armor too strong, their weapons too deadly. The Army of Northern Virginia, once a formidable force, was being systematically destroyed. The battle was over, and all that remained was to try to save as many men as possible.
"Fall back to the town!" Heth ordered, his voice hoarse from shouting. "Get to cover!"
As the Confederate soldiers fled into the town, the Saderan knights and legionaries followed, their armor gleaming in the morning light. The Saderan archers, having witnessed the disintegration of the Confederate forces, loosed another volley of their massive steel arrows. The sky darkened once more as tens of thousands of arrows streaked down upon the fleeing men. The arrows struck with the force of ballista, ripping through flesh and armor alike. The heavy steel shafts pinned soldiers to the ground, their bodies twisted in grotesque agony as blood pooled beneath them.
Those who managed to evade the arrows found no safety from the relentless advance of the rhinoraptors and their armored riders. The knights, their lances now discarded, drew massive swords nearly as long as a man was tall. These swords, forged from steel, cut through men with ease. The knights hacked and slashed their way through the fleeing soldiers, their swords cleaving through bone and muscle with horrifying precision. Heads were severed from bodies, limbs were hacked off, and torsos were split open, spilling viscera onto the blood-soaked ground.
The battle, which had begun as a conventional engagement between two armies, had turned into a massacre. The Confederate soldiers, unable to stand against the Saderan force, were slaughtered by the hundreds.
Heth watched in horror as the town was consumed by the chaos of battle. The streets ran red with blood, the air filled with the screams of the dying. The Saderan knights, their faces hidden behind steel visors, showed no mercy. They cut down men, women, and children alike, their massive shields and lances smashing through anything in their path.
The battle was over. The Heth's Division was no more. Major General Henry Heth, one of the Confederacy's most experienced commanders, had been defeated by an enemy that defied all logic and reason. The Saderan knights, with their impenetrable armor and superhuman strength, had destroyed an entire army in a matter of hours.
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From his vantage point, General John Buford watched the carnage unfold. His own men, positioned on the ridges west of Gettysburg, had witnessed the slaughter, and fear was spreading like wildfire through their ranks.
"We hold this ground!" Buford shouted, trying to rally his men. "Cemetery Hill, Cemetery Ridge, and Culp's Hill—these are our strong points! We must hold until reinforcements arrive!"
But even as he spoke, Buford's mind raced. How could they hold against an enemy like this? These knights, these monsters, were nearly invincible. Their thick steel armor made them impervious to bullets, their shields turned them into living battering rams, and their archers could rain death from distances that most ordinary soldier could only dream of.
General Buford knew that his men could not withstand this onslaught for long. "Send word to General Meade," he ordered, his voice grim. "Tell him we need every available man at Gettysburg, now."
As his aide rode off to deliver the message, Buford could only pray that reinforcements would arrive in time. The fate of the Union hung in the balance, and the battlefield at Gettysburg had become a nightmare from which there seemed to be no waking.
The war between North and South had been interrupted by an invasion from another world, and as the Saderan Imperial Army continued its relentless march, it became clear that the conflict would never be the same again. The outcome of this day was uncertain, but one thing was sure—the Battle of Gettysburg had just begun, and it would be a battle like no other.