out, and in the hearts of all there was only acceptance of the fate which awaited them. There would be no turning back.
So now for one last time, the last hours almost all of the men would spend as living beings, the Lok’Chang did as best they could to celebrate the past years that they had lived. As bad as they had been, they had been a gift compared to the future they now faced.
Except for Altian.
He sat alone in the tent, reading through the scriptures, searching fruitlessly for some unseen section he knew did not exist, trying to forget the past. He did not want to die in the horror of the Hae’Darak, but for the life of him he could not decide if returning to the world of his birth would be a worse fate. Nothing awaited him there but more pain. But like any good officer, he put his own well being beneath that of his men. If there was a slight chance they that could return, he would fight for them. At least they could have something to live for.
And so he read through old scrolls and parchments, trying to blank his mind from anything but the upcoming battle and failing, until the sounds of mock revelry died down outside. Only then did he leave, and retire to his own tent to sleep for what he hoped, deep down, would be the last time.
He awoke to the General’s call. How the man knew the time to arise, no one could fathom. But when he called for arms, the Lok’Chang answered.
Every man had had his own ritual to perform before he went to battle. Altian’s had not changed since he was a boy. He found the most isolated spot he could, away from the loud masses of the army. There, he knelt in the ashen ground facing the direction they would travel to the battlefield, lighting three joss sticks he had found in the supplies and sticking them into the earth. He bowed three times, and prayed, but not for himself.
Then he dressed, pulling armour over his clothes and tying the leather laces tight. He wore a light but tough leather cuirass over his torso, with bracers to protect his arms and guards to protect his legs. The leather armour gave only minimal protection but allowed him full movement, and Altian fought quickly, preferring to remain in motion. Over the top of his armour, he pulled on a robe of strong silk tied with a red sash. The robe was bright white, but would soon be blackened with ash and filth, and then most likely soiled with blood. Finally he bound up his long hair with a piece of cloth, picked up his sword, and went to join the others on the last day of their lives.
Most of the horses had been killed for food. The few that remained were now used by the eleven officers and the small group of thirty horsemen. Altian went to his horse, a large brown mare, and mounted it. He sat in the high saddle and looked over his division of brave men as they stood in perfect formation before him. In their eyes was nothing but grim determination.
“I am not one for speeches,” Altian told them. “But I will say this. If we are to die, let us die fighting for those we love, and let their faces carry us to a better world. We have a task to perform. Let us perform it well and be done with this accursed place.”
The men gave a single united cry, many of them knowing that they would soon all be dead.
The General approached Altian on horseback.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Then let us get under way.”
The General rode to the front of the army, and with a brief cry set them forward. The masses of the Lok’Chang set off briskly, headed for the huge dark volcano.
There had been a path at one time that had led from the volcano’s base and up to its crater. But centuries had passed, and now it was worn, and untrustworthy. Any normal army would have thought twice before taking such a road, but the Lok’Chang mounted the weathered path without hesitation. They marched upwards as it wound higher and higher up the volcano. The drop on their left side became steeper and more deadly as they progressed, but it was not the great height that struck horror into Altian. It was the great emptiness of the Hae’Darak stretched out before him to the horizon and beyond. At least it was the last time he would ever have to look upon it.
There was one casualty on the climb. A young man, Altian thought it was Likon, the young man who had annoyed everyone with his eagerness to please. He had misplaced one step and plummeted over the edge. His scream echoed down the ranks, but none stopped, or barely even slowed their pace.
At last, tired from the climb they emerged at the wide rim of the volcano. The land around them sloped downwards to the crater, where they could now see the red glow of lava as it was continually spewed upwards by unseen forces. The slope was not steep, and now their final target was in sight.
The fortress stood in the crater, balanced on a tall pinnacle of rock that stuck out unnaturally from the immense lake of molten rock below, connected to the volcano’s rim by a crumbling bridge of stone. It took Altian’s breath away. At one time, it may have been grand in a dark, foreboding way. Its towers and spires were of an alien construction, so tall and pointed like the heads of spears. But it was in ruin, crumbling and falling into disrepair. Only one thing kept it from falling down into destruction: the Shen-Xin within.
But the fortress did not hold his attention for long. An army lay before the fortress’s bridge, one far larger than the Lok’Chang. It was a dark stain on the already black landscape. Altian could not make out any shapes, but as the Lok’Chang marched closer, the enemy came into horrible clarity.
Some were shaped like men, clad in huge armour that had the look of stone and matched the style of the fortress they guarded, covered with sharp protrusions. The helms they wore were topped with two huge curving horns. But where there should have been a face, there was just blackness, as if complete nothingness lay within the animated suit of stone armour.
Others held the features of animals, again clad in the same stone-like armour and devoid of faces. Some stood on tall bird like legs and flexed long sharp pincers. Others were more dog like, standing on all fours, digging up the earth with long stone claws.
And before the great, dark army sat a single figure upon a black horse, its features completely obscured by a thick black cloak and hood. The figure seemed to regard them coldly as they approached.
Finally the General gave a hand signal and the Lok’Chang halted a safe distance away. Quickly, the army spread out, taking up their positions in the much practised formations. Altian’s division took its place on the right wing of the main body and waited. Behind him, he could hear some of the men panting, already exhausted. Others were praying. But all stared at the enemy fearlessly.
The general rode forward slowly. The hooded figure did the same. They approached one another cautiously, and stopped within calling distance. The two leaders regarded one another. The General spoke first.
“We are the Lok’Chang!” he called to the hooded figure. “The army sent by the great Emperor to procure the item known as the Shen-Xin. Stand aside so that we might complete our task.”
When the figure replied, it was too all of the Lok’Chang. The voice was a whisper that drifted across to every man.
“You have come a long way, Army of the Damned,” the thing whispered. “A long journey across time and space. You have suffered much, and lost much more. But here your journey ends. You cannot be allowed to take the thing that lies within these walls. This is its resting place. Its sanctuary. Its prison. None shall pass us, and none shall take it.”
“If we could leave the cursed thing,” the General replied, “we would. But we have, as you have stated, travelled far and suffered much. We cannot turn back. And we will proceed. If you do not wish a conflict then I beseech you, let us pass.”
“Do you not know what it is you seek?” the figure asked. Altian thought there was a hint of surprise in its voice. “The evil in this place is guarded for a reason. To protect those of your realm from a great and terrible end. I implore you, brave men, turn away now. The Shen-Xin cannot be taken.”
The General stared at the figure coldly. “We cannot,” he told it in a low voice.
The figure slumped slightly in the s
addle. “So be it,” it sighed in defeat. “If you do not turn from this endeavour, then I shall have no option but to destroy you all. But know this, petty rabble of the damned...” The figure reached up with one gloved hand and cast aside its cloak. From where the figure sat there came a light so blinding Altian dropped the reins of his horse and threw his hands before his eyes. When it died down, Altian looked up at the figure and gasped.
Before them the figure glowed brightly, its luminous skin clean and white despite the land around it. Its features were androgynous, above gender and discriminations of sex, and were beautiful beyond imagining. And most shocking, white wings stretched out from its back.
“Know this,” it repeated, its eyes burning with the fury of Heaven. “I am the archangel Illociah, keeper of the Shen-Xin, warrior and protector of mankind. And I will not be turned.” The angel grasped its sword and drew it. The blade erupted in burning red flame as the angel held it overhead. “The evil shall not be taken. Not by you. Not by anyone. As much as it shall pain me, I will destroy you all before you can so much as lay your hands on it. So for one last time, I will ask you... I will beg you. Turn now. Turn now and save your souls.”
The General lowered his head in shame. “Our souls,” he told Heaven’s warrior, “are beyond saving.”