Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

[🎶 Monsters – Ruelle.]

THE PLAINS OF THE NORTH were endless. No one knew where it began, nor where it ended—if it dropped right off the earth Camerlengo insisted was one in a million more, or if it was the apocalyptic gateway as the Papacy instituted, into the world of evil. Either way, the falling snows continued to shower the earth as light mist.

Rafel pulled his winged black stallion up an incline of ice and stared out into the silvery panorama.

A snow storm lurked in the horizon.

"The vale of Magvath is just beyond that Alp."

Rafel pointed to a final mountain, the greatest among the cluster spread in the icy region, its pencil tip reaching and hidden in the approaching gray clouds. Giselle was astride her saddle beside him. Yemaya was beside her. Her Lizadron licked at its webbed feet that made it skate ice like a reindeer in the night Yule sky.

"A storm approaches, Your Graces!" Ser Romulus, the Queen's right hand Lieutenant hailed behind.

Rafel turned on the incline to glance down at the man. He then looked outward towards the armies spread across the tundra like black leaves dispersed in snow. The storm was going to hit in a hour. He intended to be past that ice mountain by then. And finally, bring an end to the frozen crusaders.

It was Giselle who echoed his thoughts, "We keep marching, Lieutenant! Get the Witches to implore the Goddess of the Hearth, summon warmth in the heart of warriors, and make sure to keep the blood flowing—to all areas. Are we clear?"

Ser Romulus blushed at this. But quickly saluted to hide it out.

"Yes, Your Majesty!"

He swiftly turned around and marched down to command the host.

They encountered the first Nephilim at an impasse at the foot of the mountain. The blue giant lay on his side, with a great macabre axe clutched to his side. He heaved on it, his big blue head bald and snoring like a pregnant mare. He was a sentry who guarded the iron gates that blocked the way through the alp. As high into the clouds as the mountain was, there was no exit but through it.

It was a monolith rampart. A refuge built into the very glacier for the Grey Stags. Now the rampart had being taken and the Nephilims were using it to keep trespassers from leaking into their camp—which Rafel guessed was just behind the alp. He could see the runes of ancient Celestial magic which those legendary druids of old had used to imprison the offspring of the Titans.

They shimmered and glowed on the obsidian metal of the magical doorway. Alphabets immune to a mortal's tongue. Only true witches of pure bloodlines could read and pronounce the spells to unlock the full potential of the wards.

This alp was one of the many in the chain lined across the tundra that served as pillars for the veil which had kept the blue Giants back—until now.

The Nephilims had conquered the Stags and converted their prison into a fortress for their campaign.

Giselle mocked the sleeping giant with her eyes.

"Seems like they aren't expecting company. How foolish!" she told Rafel.

At the Fey Queen's whispering, the giant slowly opened his eyes. Blue like the frost around him, it took him a moment to blink his heavy dosing away. His pale lips curled to a snarl as his eyes leveled on the gilded Eldorian banners. He instantly knew he beheld the armies of the adversary.

The bald, blue giant rose to his feet.

He opened his mouth to yell,

"RAIDERS! RAI—"

But Giselle's Lieutenant, Ser Romulus grabbed his spear and sent it hurling out across to the Giant with savage speed. The sharp metal arrowhead slammed into the big blue head, right between the eyes. The spear sank in through the skull, the ivory tip bursting put the back of the Giant's fat neck. The spear's tip was no longer silver. It glowed crimson as fresh blood poured out the open hole.

Ser Romulus spat as the Nephilim crashed to the ground.

"You may be half-Titan, motherfucker. But you still bleed red!"

The blue giant fell to the earth on the knees. Blood dripped out his forehead, running down and soaking the snows around him. He lifted his huge, ham hands and tried to feel for the spear's handle.

"Ooh! I wouldn't do that if I were you!" Giselle taunted. But it was clear in her manic gold eyes how much she wanted him to.

The idiot Nephilim grabbed the end of the long spear and pulled hard—stupid giant thought he had a better chance of surviving if the javelin was out. The arrowhead sliced out soaked in his blood and brain. The open hole now poured torrents of leaking life. With a final dumbfounded glaze in his blue eyes, the giant breathed his last.

The spear fell from his fingertips and he crashed heavily to the cold ground.

The snows absorbed his fountain of blood like a fleece.

With the sentry dead, Corazón swiftly hacked into the magical system of the doorway and unlocked the metal gates. A loud grating began as the solid block of iron began to slide up to let them through. Ancient Fae runes danced in blue and silver glyphs of floating magic, swirling into the alp and vanishing.

Rafel pulled the reins on his Pegasus, Agamemnon. The winged beast neighed proudly and marched first through the raised gates. It stomped the Nephilim's head for good effect. The skull caved in under the strong black hooves and a gory mess seeped into the snow. Brain matter trailed after the horse's galloping.

Giselle's Griffin and Yemaya's Lizadron each shared the pair of the giant's eyes which had popped out his squashed head. The Queen's silver Griffin gulped down the orb greedily before ruffling it's large wings and hurrying through the gates after Rafel's horse.

And so it was that the entire four hundred thousand of Eldorian, Atlantean, and Rocasian armies marched through the foot of the mountain and into the hidden realms of Rumbrun. It was as the host emptied out from the gateway that Rafel turned to comment on Giselle's earlier words.

"The Giants were not foolish in placing one guard at the gates. Not at all. They thought we wouldn't be foolish enough to risk a journey of a fortnight into the North to confront them. I think they were relying on the threat of the severe winter, the ice beasts, and carnivorous forests to keep us south.

And now that I think on it, I think they are foolish after all. . .for thinking we would be."

The frightfully immense Alp was now behind them. Its towering peak rose and rose into the black skies, narrowing to the zenith which couldn't be seen. It was larger than life, and if it erupted would crumble all of Rumbrun to dust. A horde of blue Giants buried in the wastelands under a subzero avalanche for eternity.

Rafel stopped his horse and pondered this idea for a moment—destroying the mountain.

Yes, it would annihilate all of Rumbrun. But what of his host?

He quickly voted against the idea. A battle would have to do.

[🎶 Dusk Till Dawn – ZAYN ft. Sia.]

More Legions of the armies funneled out through the arch in the foot of the mountain, spreading out and taking positions in companies of ten thousand, each troop led by a Myriad Commander. They continued like this for a while until all four hundred thousand assembled in battle splendor.

Shield bearers were in front.

Archers behind them. The Wild Shapes among, and the sorceresses and wizards behind those.

The elite infantry and saddled cavalry were the last in formation.

It was a sight of epic Military strides.

Rafel looked behind and smiled. His host would make the Romans blush.

A mile and half of flat snowy plains stretched out in front of them, before abruptly dropping into a wide valley. The ravine was deep and steep, like a Titan—one of the primordial ones—had reached in and scooped out a slice of the earth. The wide mysterious crater was a berth in the snowfall.

The vale of Magvath.

Giselle mused that the name suited it.

"The valley of the Goddess of Death," she said aloud, interpreting.

Just as Rafel predicted, the snowstorm was right above them now. It would rain and thrash on the vale. And it would grant an ample advantage for his armies against the giants. The Nephilims own great size would be their downfall. In the mists to come, they wouldn't be able to see the Eldorian soldiers crawl up to their legs and hack them dead.

The skies above were a thick black. A dreary omen.

Far across the eerie vale, on the other end, Rafel saw the horde of Nephilims. Beyond the valley they had made camp.

Their tents stretched out vastly in the snow. Corpses of Stags in various stages of decay were mounted on stakes around the camp. Flayed bodies. Beheaded bodies. Disemboweled. Faceless.

Limbs hacked away. The fresher ones roasting by some tents. An utter defilement.

"Cannibalistic pricks!" Giselle hissed.

Rafel grabbed her hand to calm her.

"We have the advantage. The blue fuckers haven't made us yet."

Giselle squeezed his fingers, and Rafel turned a full circle on his steed to look around. First to his wife, Yemaya. Then to the chariot on which stood his dear Corazón and slave, Aya Naamah. When all women nodded and Ser Romulus saluted, Rafel knew it was time.

He glanced again to Giselle, placing all authority in her hands. He respected her that much.

"We are ready, Your Majesty."

In a harmony borne of unified hearts to plunder, the Apollyon: Israfel BlüdThïrste, the Fey Queen: Giselle Van Imperia, the Dark Witch: Corazón Mortimer, the [Rank A] Succubus: Aya Naamah, all lifted and pulled on their shined helmets.

Giselle sent her golden Fae eyes straight forward. A celestial flame sparked in them.

"SOUND THE TRUMPETS!" she ordered to her Lieutenant.

Ser Romulus lifted his hand and waved the signal.

All Myriad Commanders stood stiffly and chests puffed out. The bugle sounded first, and then, came the mighty war trumpets, blaring across the plains and valley and shocking the blue Giants beyond to their feet.

The hills of snow trembled and the riding beasts complimented with their own war cries.

"For the glory of the Continent! For the glory of Eldoria! ONWARDS TO VICTORY!" Giselle yelled out with the shout of a Valkyrie.

The Commanders gave the charge and the Archers of all companies dipped and nocked.

"LOOSE!" The thunder of unison broke out in the air.

As a thousand fiery arrows shot high into the air, Giselle rushed out furiously across the plain to the valley, leading the charge with screaming to chill the blood. She was a fierce queen. And riding with her was Rafel and the Atlantean goddess.

Rafel rubbed Agamemnon's frothing muzzle and the black Pegasus instantly spread its wings. Bulk of exerting muscles shifted as midnight feathers rippled into the cold wind. Agamemnon took flight, and as the legions of Eldoria tore down the vale of Magvath toward the frantic camp of Nephilims, Rafel rode into the black skies above them.

He was the Winter Demon, sailing into the skies and blessing the armies with courage and valor.

The spread wings of his Pegasus casted a great shadow on the valley beneath. It was a fearful sight.

In the air, Rafel summoned to his right palm a large ball of [Hellfire]. And with his monstrous [Titan Grasp], which shot out as a gigantic and grotesque crimson fist out his back, he sent the ball of cosmic flame hurling downwards to the tents of the giants.

The Nephilims scattered in all directions at the raw fury of the descending comet. It was blinding as the sun, falling like Lucifer from heaven, with a wrathful vengeance and accompanied by the Archers rain of flaming arrows.

The onslaught of battle hit the earth, and the explosion made the forces jump.

The camp of Rumbrun received the devastating heat of [Hellfire]. Many giants ran helter skelter, naked and burning among the flaming tents. Their blue flesh roasting. The camp descended into utter chaos. The comet's blast took a thousand. The rain of arrows took ten thousand.

In that moment of glorious violence, the heavens tore open and the snowstorm fell.

It whipped the earth like whips of a [Tormentor] demon. A gale with the force of whirlwinds screeched across the vale and spurred on the host of Eldoria. Rafel rode down from the clouds with the fury of the snows. His Pegasus, Agamemnon folded its midnight wings as his pale rider joined the Fey Queen in her ride to destroy the giants.

Four hundred thousand warriors that dusk, flooded the valley of Magvath. The cold froze the spittle on their beards. But with armor glinting, longswords brandished and battle sandals thrashing the earth, the soldiers roared into battle.

Even the arctic temperatures of the vale could not dim the spark in the legions of Eldoria.