“Turn back your forces now barbarian, or you will all be cut down where you stand!” commanded the knight, the silver armor that encased him shining brightly even in the dull light of the gray sky. His brown hair kept neat and short, streaked with gray, and his noble eyes of ice blue shooting across the field to his foes, he sat upon his mighty steed of the purest white. He seemed to radiate light, a beacon of hope in the desolate expanse of burned fields and charred hills, shining brightly over the darkness of the world. And behind him an army of one thousand men adorned in suits of steel, amassed to represent the civilized world in the battle against chaos and disorder.

A massive roar arose from the other side of the field, echoing through the air and rolling into a thunderous cry. Savage and primal, fueled by instinct and fury. The head of the barbarian horde, a mass of muscle adorned with bones and black war paint, had leapt forward, raising the bleached skull that hung before his crimson and midnight kilt into the air in a frenzy. A chorus of cries rang out behind him, his followers raising their own trophies and weapons in taunt.

“Barbarians,” the knight spat, his eyes cold. “Uncultured, uncivilized savages, they are not worth wasting the light of God upon. Worshipping false gods, polytheistic rubbish that they call religion. They fail to listen to our priests and accept that there is but one God…well I say that they are not worth converting…they deserve only what God intended. Death.”

The soldier beside the knight, an unshaven man with a crooked nose and a thick brow chuckled hoarsely. “Well said m’lord. Shall we mobilize there then and slaughter the bloody bastards?”

The knight nodded solemnly. He was now the judge in place of the Lord, the divine vessel of God, able to dispense punishment upon the enemies of God the Almighty. “They work against the Lord, James. And in doing so, they are our enemies. The King will not tolerate such filth within his lands, and thus we must cleanse.” There was a metallic ring as his sword leapt from its sheath, blazing white in the sky as it was thrust above his head. “Form a line!” he shouted, the soldiers behind him hastily organizing into a wall of plate mail and tower shields bearing red crosses. The sword arm swung forward. “Advance!”

Another earthshaking roar arose from the barbarians across the waste. Vastly outnumbered, their best defenses were crude hides sewn together with little skill, their most advanced weapons iron battleaxes that had seen better days. Bone white masks constructed from remains of fallen foes upon their faces, in a massive surge the enemy moving forward, rushing at the knight’s army like a wave of flaming hatred. The knight remained steady in his advance at the helm of his forces, his gaze unwavering, his face grim. “The Lord’s work is no clean task…and today our hands will be stained.”

Still hundreds of yards apart, the swarm of black flew at the wall of silver. “Archers, ready! Take aim! Fire!” The sound of two hundred arrows cutting through the air filled the ears of the armor clad soldiers, the missiles soaring in arcs across the field and finding home in the approaching barbarians. But the savages were not phased. Their feet tearing up dirt behind them, riding on horses of raw fury. Their protection was rage, pain meant nothing. Wounds had no meaning to them, arrows were mosquito bites.

Few dropped, to the knight’s dismay. Another volley would surely reduce their numbers to nearly nothing. And that was all there’d be time for. “God be with you in battle, men,” he said in a strong voice, his eyes locked upon the leader of his foes. Arrows sliced through the air once more, finding mark within the primitive tribesman. But again they did not falter, they pressed on stronger and faster, burning with anger. They were quickly too close for arrows to be of use. The knight’s sword thrust forward in a blur of white. “Charge!” he let out the cry, kicking his horse into a gallop. A collective shout arose from his soldiers as they leveled their spears, armor clanking in the thick air as they increased pace.

The sword leapt forward and sliced into a foe, nearly cleaving the enemy’s skull in two. Then the explosion as the opposing armies met, the first wave of barbarians meeting death upon the heads of spears or smashing into tall shields, their bones cracking moistly. Then the sound of metal upon metal ringing out as melee combat truly began, blades rending flesh and spewing crimson into the air. Crazed war cries flew from the depths of each man’s soul as they slew each other, looking upon their enemies not as human beings but as animals for the slaughter.

The knights view tore across the chaos of battle, picking out the leader of the barbarians. He wore the skull of a bull upon his head like a mask, the horns stabbing into the air black on either side. The barbarian knocked off a helm with a backhand, denting it with sheer power before gripping his enemy’s hair, the man’s nose shattered and bloody. Drawing back his battle and, his face contorting with bloodlust, he tore off the man’s head with a powerful chop and raised it into the air with a yell.

“My God,” muttered the knight. Kicking his horses side, he blasted forward, raising his blade behind his head in order to ensure taking off the leader’s head in one massive blow. But he found the swing missing, the legs of his horse being sliced off as he flew forward, landing in a smash of twisted armor. Trying to push himself up, his right arm gave out, having been crushed in the fall. He turned his head in time to see the leader of the horde before him, his cracking war paint upon his tanned skin, the head of the soldier he had killed still in his hand, the face frozen in fear.

The knight curled a lip in disgust. Narrowing his icy eyes, he growled and tried one last time in vain to push himself up. Around him the battle raged on, though he and the leader of his enemies seemed to be singled out, forgotten amidst the fighting. “May God have mercy on your pagan soul whilst you burn in the flames of hell.”

“I should like to meet this god of yours,” said the barbarian in a deep, rumbling voice, “so I can tell him myself what weaklings his followers are, and how they go against his teachings by oppressing and slaughtering innocents. Or maybe you would like to tell him yourself.” Ears were filled with a bone shattering crack that seemed to rise over all else as the brown haired head was raised triumphantly in the air, followed by a chorus of cheers.

Dulled with dirt and blood, the armor of the knight and his defeated soldiers no longer shone in the dull light. Their eyes wide open, white but void of life, the barbarians stacked their enemies in piles for mass burning, the honorable way to send a warrior beyond. The survivors would be sacrificed. Homage would be paid to the gods that granted their victory. And the symbol of the ‘one god’ their foes worshipped would be abandoned, for they meant nothing.