Harbingers of Ruin

I noticed that the humans had a man among them who stood out not only in his combat ability but also in his dressing. So he was some commander of sorts. Nevertheless, he seemed to have noticed the same thing I did, as his face suddenly went dark when his eyes fell upon the hill.

The Four Horsemen stood, overseeing the battle from the top of the hill but it seemed like they had grown impatient and wanted to end this by themselves. For some reason, they had been holding back, but that was about to change. I could see their horses jigging.

Each Horseman and his horse was an epitome of fear. They were each draped in deep black cloaks that flowed like liquid shadows and beneath those were armor, dark and worn, etched with the scars of countless battles, yet they gleamed faintly under the light of the evening sun, revealing intricate engravings long faded by time. Their faces were shielded from my view by the hoods of their cloaks but I could already tell they wouldn't be welcoming, at least they might have had helmets on.

Their horses were just as imposing as they—towering black warhorses with ghostly eyes of different colors. Clad in dark barding, the horses moved with unnatural silence, their hooves barely disturbing the ground and their armor clinking softly with every step. Even their manes seem otherworldly—long, flowing strands that drifted unnaturally as if stirred by an unseen wind.

An uneasiness descended upon me as I watched the Four Horsemen prepare their attack. Even the human commander seemed to be tense as he expectantly watched the Four Horsemen.

Simultaneously, they tightened their grip on their reins, and with the sharp nudge of their heels against the horses' flanks, they each sent a silent command to their steed. The horses responded in an instant.

With snorts of hot breath, the horses charged forward, their hooves pounding against the earth with explosive rhythm. As they gained momentum, the riders leaned into the charge and a moment later, their weapons were drawn, gleaming in the light of the sun and ready to strike.

The horses drove forward with powerful legs and thundering strides and in a storm of black steel and death, they crashed into the fray.

The first line of soldiers crumpled under the sheer momentum of the charge, bodies thrown aside like ragdolls as steel met flesh. Spears splintered uselessly against the armored forms of both rider and beast, failing to halt their deadly advance. The warhorses, trained to kill as much as their riders, reared and lashed out with crushing hooves, shattering skulls and ribs with brutal efficiency.

The battlefield had dissolved into chaos.

The Four Horsemen wove through the melee like wraiths, striking down enemies with calculated precision before vanishing into the swirl of battle, only to reappear elsewhere, dealing death anew.

The human commander, however, looked hopeless and useless before them. He could only watch as these harbingers of ruin decimated his regiments and tore through his squadrons. In only a matter of minutes, the number of human soldiers had nearly been halved.

The Four Horsemen didn't seem to care about anything else except achieving their objective as even their soldiers and monsters were caught in their monstrous flurry of savage attacks.

Suddenly, in a storm of shouts, more human soldiers came charging out of the gates on the cliff. But the enemy was not sleeping either. At exactly the right time, reinforcements came running down from the hill ahead and both armies clashed like two powerful floods of blades in that small space.

The Four Horsemen were also not letting up. Their horses tirelessly carried them around the battlefield and assisted with powerful kicks, and bashes, and landed directly on men, crushing them in the process while their masters swung their blades.

It was a massacre.

I know I said I felt sorry for the humans but what could I call this that I was feeling now? It was something worse. Pity? Dread? From the start, it was already clear that they were fighting a losing battle but now....

I searched but there was no word I knew of that could describe what I felt. Needless to say, the Four Horsemen were the least of their worries. From the direction in which they had come from, a little distance away from the hill, there were multitudes, no legions, no myriads of adversaries of different shapes and sizes fast approaching them but among them, there was an outstanding group.

This group was exceptionally graceful, and while the others rushed with the savagery of beasts, they moved slowly, like a lion approaching his pride when they had powerful prey cornered. Unlike the others, they were all dressed in fine, black fabric designed with intricate golden patterns and looked humane, but amongst them, there was one who looked like... a king.

Sitting on a mobile throne lifted by several burly men, was a king, and surrounding him was his royal entourage. The air which this man carried around him was one of true authority. If I had a body, I may have even been compelled to kneel before him and pay homage. He was too... royal, too... kingly.

He looked very indifferent but at the same time serious, while his entourage looked like a group of deadly assassins.

His presence on this battlefield spoke only one true fact.

The tide of this battle was about to change completely.