But Kirin did not stop searching for him. She yearned to see his face again - to feel as if she were somehow among the fighting with him and, perhaps, able to comfort his spirit from where she sat.
As her mind began to wander, she also became aware of a consistent, downhearted expression on every man’s face she surveyed. The mind and spirit of each warrior was indeed filled with the dread of his own death, and she could tell there was going to be no relief from this fear until the battle was over and each man was either spared or destroyed. Her heart sank low in her chest, and she felt great pity for the fighters. She raised her fingers to the ring again.
Kirin felt an urge in her heart. She rose quietly from her seat and turned to leave the room. Byron noticed her and became suddenly worried.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
She began to say something, but stopped herself and thought a moment. “Nowhere,” she said. “I’ll be back.”
Byron eyed her suspiciously. “You’re not going out there, are you?” he asked.
Kirin remained silent.
Byron sighed. “Will you at least stop by the armory before you go, and take a weapon?”
She nodded. “I will… and I’ll be back.”
Stephen held his eyes shut tightly, trying to maintain control of the deep anger that was sweltering within his soul. He felt pressure in his throat and began working his jaw muscles to relieve his tension. He had never felt aggression this deeply before, and he was afraid of what would happen if he were to release control of it.
And so Stephen stood very tensely: a solid, calm form on the outside, but one being consumed by a torrent of pain and fury inside. His hatred began to feel less dangerous, and so he slowly began to release his grip on himself, allowing his body to relax again.
“Calm…” he thought out loud. “…Calm...Control…”
As he began to fall into a state of meditation, a sudden gagging sound next to him snapped Stephen back to reality and he turned to see the soldier beside him vomiting profusely all over the ground.
Stephen smiled as the man wiped his mouth and knelt on his knees.
The man noticed Stephen’s attentions and felt extremely embarrassed. “Sorry,” he said, sheepishly.
“That’s ok. I’ve seen that happen a lot lately,” Stephen said. ”What’s your name?”
“Amos,” the man replied.
“Amos,” he repeated. “Are you nervous?”
The man looked up to him and smiled weakly with trembling lips. “What can I say? I’m a lover, not a fighter.” He chuckled lightly and Stephen helped him to his feet.
“That’s funny,” Stephen replied. “Today, I’m a fighter because I’m a lover.” As he spoke these words, he looked behind him and raised his eyes to the sky to view the outcropping where he and Kirin had met the night before. When the ledge came into Stephen’s view, he quickly became weak in the knees and had to blink hard to make sure he wasn’t imagining what he was seeing.
There, on the high outcropping of rocks fifty meters above all the soldiers, Kirin presided, praying over all the warriors. She was knelt down with her hands folded around her father’s wedding ring, and her head was bowed. A small, thinbladed sword, which she had jabbed into the ground in front of her, wavered slightly back and forth in the breeze. Two long, crimson cords of rope that had been tied to the hilt of the sword flowed in the same direction as Kirin’s beautiful, black hair as the wind picked up speed and cooled the men on the field.
The wind brought with it a familiar spirit. It glided amongst the hearts and souls of all who were present, filling everyone with a newfound sense of simultaneous peace and power. The presence remained only a moment longer, for its allotted time on the planet was drawing to a close. It glided once more to the top of the outcropping, where it filled the spirit of Kirin Lee one final time before vanishing.
Stephen’s heart went out to the beautiful girl, and he knew instantly that he was feeling the emotion called “love” for her. Although he had never known what it was to love somebody in that way before, he felt no doubt in his mind or his heart that the absolute and unending affection he had for her now would only grow stronger over time…should he live to pursue it.
Stephen’s moment of pure fondness was abruptly interrupted when the man next to him spoke up.
“Is she worth fighting for?” Amos asked.
Stephen’s eyes filled with fury once again, only this time, mixed with passion and reassurance. “She’s the only thing worth fighting for,” he replied and nothing more was to be said of the matter.
Amos nodded silently and smiled. His fears too had become distant and weak.
Stephen turned his back to Kirin and bowed his own head in a show of silent homage to the Power he knew to be higher than his own. Only by magnificent grace had Stephen survived up unto this point in the whole ordeal, and he knew that it was only by an even greater measure of that same grace that the humans would be victorious that day.
Stephen did not ask for the sparing of his own life in the battle; he only asked, in the humblest manner he knew how, that the injustice the evil creatures had done would not go unpunished. He prayed that the humans would survive and be able to live in peace. He prayed that Kirin would not be hurt anymore.
As Stephen softly spoke, “Amen,” a sudden boom of thunder nearby caused a stirring among the men. He looked up and saw a lone, frantic scout running out of the woods at the other end of the field, shouting something at the top of his lungs. The men all looked at one another and began worriedly mumbling among themselves.
“I don’t like this,” Amos said.
Stephen turned his head slightly. He suddenly realized, as the runner drew closer, that he was yelling, “They’re here! They’re here!”
“Neither do I, friend,” he replied. “But nevertheless, it’s happening.”
The man nodded, and proceeded to vomit again.
Stephen looked back to try and catch a final glimpse of Kirin before the battle began, but she was already gone. However, the sword she had brought with her still wavered magnificently atop the cliff, as a president of the fight - deciding who would be worthy to live and who would die. It was then that Stephen saw several other men watching the sword as intently as he was, and even more others praying silently. This comforted his heart, and he felt a brotherhood among all the men at that moment.
Stephen then watched the runner (now walking and out of breath) make his way over to the line of archers, where his bow stayed ready for him in the hands of a fellow warrior.
Dylan reached to his belt and grabbed his transmitter.
“Joel, this is Hamish. Do you copy? Over,” he asked calmly.
“Roger that, Commander,” came Joel’s reply. “Over.”
“Time to get in the air. We’re ready whenever you get here, over,” Dylan said.
“Affirmative on that,” Joel said. “Over and out.”
Dylan returned the transmitter to its holster. He turned to the army and shouted, “Draw arms!”
Immediately, all those who had not already pulled their weapons began to do so. A cacophony of clanging metal sounds shot forth from the army as hundreds of medieval objects were removed from their sheaths.
Stephen reached a single hand up to the string that bound the two ends of his cloak together at his sternum. In a fluid motion, the garment slipped from his shoulders to reveal the weapons he had chosen.
Around Stephen’s forearms were wrapped tight cutlets of leather which were each attached to a long, razor-edged blade that ran the length of his arm and then extended further out for almost a foot at each end.
These new cutlet-weapons were of Stephen’s own design. They would allow him to deflect a blow with one arm while easily reaching out and jabbing or slicing with the other - an idea that, in Stephen’s mind, was excellent for combat. His battered, but trusty hook-launcher was strapped securely to his back, to be out of the way. He was not sure exactly why he wanted it, but he knew it wo
uld be wise to carry all available weapons with him into battle. He knew it would be impossible to predict just what situations might arise, so he had asked the town smith to repair it for him, hoping to reverse the damage done to it during the stampede.
As Stephen’s rage built and the drone of thunder echoed over the landscape, a loud, bellowing horn sounded from somewhere in the woods on the opposite side of the field - an eerie moan that chilled the hearts of everyone who heard it.
Dylan quickly turned back to the men and shouted, “Prepare yourselves! They’re here!” At this, the blare of the horn abruptly ceased, and all was silent for several minutes.
Soon, however, the first of the aliens stepped out of the forest onto the open grassy plain, appearing as a small brown speck in the distance. Then, the first warrior was joined by a second, and then another. The first creatures walked forward to make room for the others trailing not far behind them.
After the first ten or so appeared, the opposing warriors then began stepping onto the field in hoards of dozens. The clusters of dozens then amassed into a crowd of hundreds, until all across the opposite side of the open field, an array of over eight hundred looming beasts had assembled for the day’s strike in the name of provoked vengeance. Not a sound was uttered from any of the watchful creatures. There was only a silence that seemed to bring with it an end to all sound on the planet.
For several moments, the frightening calm thrived and kept all men and beasts ready to lash out on anything. No birds could be heard chirping in the nearby forest. No static could be heard from the crashing waves of the ocean below. Only the roar of the mighty thunder made any sound.
The tension went unbroken for several minutes as each army surveyed the other. However, it was unbeknownst to the humans that each alien was mentally selecting a human fighter to personally attack and destroy, not letting any other distraction interfere with that task. They each chose a focus for their hatred, and the silence was broken again by thunder, which now seemed suddenly closer.
Finally, the long bellowing sound of all the beasts’ primitive horns echoed over the landscape. The chilling moan alerted every warrior present that the final deciding battle had begun. With quiet ease, the beasts started their charge, swiftly and silently, holding no visible weapons as they strode menacingly over the open field.
The humans remained perfectly still, unwilling to match the attack with a charge of their own. The opposing army began to spread out somewhat as they raced toward the humans at different speeds, although they all moved very swiftly for such lanky, lumbering creatures. Still yet, the humans did not move or speak. Each man knew what was about to happen.
When the first row of the creatures had covered one-third of the battlefield, they suddenly vanished from sight, one after another, as they fell helplessly into the deadfall that the humans had dug earlier. A deep, wide trench, spread thoroughly throughout with sharpened stakes, stretched over the entire length of the field.
The humans heard no screams of pain as the beasts were impaled on the horrible stakes. The specks only vanished from the surface of the field. The humans knew what had happened and began to cheer wildly as the second row of attackers, who did not have enough time to stop, fell likewise to their deaths in the trench.
The humans continued to rave loudly, overjoyed that their trap had worked. But the aliens did not stop charging. Instead, they began trying to jump over the trench. Some succeeded, and others did not; but it was not long before the number of bodies lining the trench had entirely covered the stakes, and thus, the beasts began climbing easily over their own dead to reach the other side. The trench had not stopped them, and the humans’ cheers died down to silence as they watched the army resume its charge.
However, when the front line of aliens was almost fifty meters past the first trench, they too fell into a second, identically constructed, trench that covered the entire length of the field.
The humans cheered wildly once more, but the beasts were unwilling to repeat the clumsy disaster that had diminished almost one fourth of their army. They turned swiftly in their course and ran into the nearby woods while their fellow warriors squirmed in agony in the trenches behind.
At the sight of the charging army disappearing into the woods, the humans became suddenly quiet and turned to face the forest with uneasy anticipation.
Dylan sensed the nervousness of the human army and he turned to face them. “Stand fast, men!” he yelled. The crowd instantly settled down and turned to their Commander. “Watch the forest and be ready for them to appear! Archers!” he shouted. Dylan then marched proudly out in front of his army.
Quickly, the front line of archers stepped forward and followed Dylan onto the field. Each one pulled a few arrows from their quivers and jammed them down into the ground. Some knelt, others remained standing, but all plucked a single arrow from the ground in front of them and slowly loaded it into their bows. They all drew back on their bowstrings and tilted their arrows to the sky, awaiting their next order.
A loud rustling noise sounded from the forest as the alien army charged through it. As the sound grew louder, the humans became aware of just how many soldiers there were in the opposing army. The rustle turned into a loud crashing sound as the creatures suddenly began pouring out of the forest in teams of hundreds. They were no more than two hundred meters away, and they still uttered no sound.
Dylan pulled his sword from its sheath and raised it high above his head. He watched patiently as the army continued to charge. When he guessed they were almost within range, he swiped his sword downward and yelled as loudly as he could, “Fire at will!”
The dark sky suddenly filled with countless whizzing projectiles as the archers released their bowstrings and fired into the air. The arrows all fell quickly to the ground in the midst of the approaching swarm, and dozens of the tiny forms, that were rapidly becoming larger, fell to the earth in pain.
The humans did not cheer at this. They merely watched in silence as the archers continued, as quickly as they could, to load and reload their bows - hoping to fire as many shots into the heart of the charging army as possible before the hand to hand combat began. When Dylan guessed the aliens were close enough, he thrust his sword back up into the air and shouted, “Archers, fall back!”
As he did, the archers quickly dropped their bows, and left their arrows sticking out of the ground as they ran back into the ranks of ground-troops.
“Riflemen!” Hamish screamed.
All of the men carrying rifle-packs on their backs ran out into the field where the archers had stood, and immediately drew their charged weapons and took aim. Dylan Hamish then lowered his sword and ran behind the row of riflemen to get out of their line of fire.
“Fire at will!” he yelled again, thus sending forth a barrage of brightly colored energy bolts that each seared easily through several aliens before stopping. The front row of attackers fell quickly, some of them in pieces, and began writhing in agony as their fellow warriors charged heartlessly over top of them. This spray of fire seemed to have the greatest effect on the enemy, and the charge began slowing somewhat.
A familiar, shrill whine sounded from overhead, and the last remaining shuttlecraft soared over the battlefield. From open hatches on both sides of the shuttle, men dropped makeshift bombs amongst the charging army. A few seconds passed, and then, a huge pair of trails began to form from smoke and body members, all the way up the center of the onslaught. The shuttle covered the entire length of the field, and then began a wide, sweeping turn for another pass.
But the barrage of combatants did not stop. The beasts kept pressing ever forward, giving no regard to their own deaths. When they came within a hundred meters, Dylan gave the command for a special formation.
“Riflemen! Ready, one!” he ordered. The row of twelve riflemen split in two down the middle, and each side, consisting of six men, ran to the farthest corner of the field: the left group stopping near the trees, the right group at the cliff rim.
They did not stop firing as they moved, nor would they stop for the rest of the battle since, in this formation, the riflemen could fire into the ranks of the oncoming aliens without danger of hitting a fellow human.
Even as dozens of the aliens flew backward into the air from the blasts of energy-rifles, the horde continued to charge with full force - driven by the momentum of rage. They ignored the gauntlet of riflemen through which they had to pass and charged head-on into certain death… although the sheer size of the army was enough to break through the obstacle and continue the charge. The aliens were now very close to engaging the humans on duel terms.
Without ever taking his eyes off the enemy Dylan paced calmly out in front of the human army and raised his sword mightily into the air for one final command before the carnage unfolded.
“Never surrender!” He screamed this in terrible rage, and began to run toward his fate with all the might his body could put forth.
At this command, along with the sight of the opposing army bearing down on them, the warrior-humans began their instinctive war cries.
Stephen’s heart started pounding in his chest and a natural fear of death rose in him. The front line of humans began to charge with fury, trampling the soft grass underfoot and screaming wildly as they went. Stephen counted the seconds as his turn to run drew closer and closer, and his adrenaline churned within him.
The next row of human warriors began their heroic charge.
“A few more seconds,” Stephen crooned to himself, as he waited impatiently to lash out against the tyrannous enemy he had come to despise.
Stephen started to take one last look back, hoping to see Kirin watching from the rocks above, but before he could finish turning his head, the warriors around him began to sprint forward onto the battlefield, racing with the speed of fearless patriots. Stephen quickly returned his focus and began to run with a fervent burst of energy.
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