The Red Rain
The Red Rain
9800 years ago
Year 150 of the war
“Brothers! Sisters! Soldiers of the Dawn!”
The voice of our planetar general splits the air like a Warhorn. His white wings flare behind him, and in front of him, the host gathers in the square and in the streets.
“For a hundred and fifty years, the godless have taken from us. They have burned our fields, shattered our homes, slaughtered our kin. For a hundred and fifty years, the world has bled.”
We stand shoulder to shoulder in the streets - rank upon rank of steel, shields and crowned helmets. I glance at Beryn next to me, who catches my look and bares his teeth in a grin.
“They thought they could conquer us, that divinity could be slain. But the divine burns brighter than ever - it burns in you!”
A roar answers him, its sound rising up the walls of Solcarra, echoing against its towers. This city has stood for generations, held against onslaughts of the enemy. Golden banners whip atop the high walls, highlighted against the grey of the heavy clouds above.
“This city has never fallen, and it never will! From its heart you now rise, the host that will bring the dawn to end their night! Here stands the army that will end the war, that will end the age of the godless!”
Beryn slams the butt of his spear against the marble streets, shouting until his face is red, eyes alight with zealotry. I join in the roar, his zealotry burning inside my chest, burning away my fear.
“Raise your steel as an offering! Raise your voice as a prayer! This war will drag on no longer. It will end. Not tomorrow. Not next year. It ends when we say it ends. And we say it ends now!”
The tide of voices that cries out is deafening, joined by the beating of spears on the ground. I slam my fist against my breastplate, the sounds of my brothers and sisters in arms drowning out any unease. I try to find Beryn’s eyes in the midst of it, only to find that he is no longer grinning, instead looking to the sky. A shadow passes over the crowd as the roar dies down, and I see more people look up.
I follow Beryn’s gaze just in time to see a black shape hurtling down towards us from the sky. It glows bright before smashing into a guildhall not twenty paces from where we stand.
A wave of force, air and stone slams into me, knocking me to the ground, and beating the air out of my chest. I taste blood in my mouth and my ears ring, as I drag myself back up to one knee, coughing dust from my lungs. I’ve lost my shield, and my hands are raw from the stone. All around me soldiers are shouting, and I hear some cry that the enemy is firing upon us. I believe it too, until I see the thing embedded in the guildhall.
The thing sits in the wreckage of the building - round, black iron, twenty-five feet across. Light flickers around it, a psionic field shimmering before going out. A seam runs along its side, and as I look, it shifts, and the iron swings open, kicking up more dust.
My blood runs cold as shapes emerge from within the sphere. Six creatures come out, each a monstrous sight, rising to their full height of over two meters as they step out onto the street. Their skin is the color of blood. These are creatures that dogs would flee. That cats would hiss at. Ones that should never exist on any level above the first layer of the hells. I have never seen one in the flesh, but everyone knows who they are - the Esharim.
A cluster of soldiers rushes forwards, spears forward, screaming a battlecry. Most don’t make it ten steps. The Esharim smash into the soldiers, launching themselves forward with psionic steps. The first soldiers are simply run through, thrown aside by the mass of the godless. Then the real killing starts as the Esharim begin chanting in their cursed tongue.
I turn to run. The fear that grips me makes it so that is all my body is capable of. Frantically, I try to find Beryn. It doesn’t take long.
Beryn lies splayed out on the ground in a pool of his own blood. His legs are trapped under a pillar, and his arm bends the wrong way at the elbow. His face is the worst of it however - where his jaw was is now a red mess, having been bludgeoned by a brick from the guildhall. I freeze, barely registering the thundering booms of more spheres falling around the city, not minding the confusion of the soldiers scrambling to answer the attack. For a moment, I can do nothing but stare at my friend, who will never grin again.
Another close crash tears my eyes away from Beryn. I look up to see dozens more of the spheres raining down all over the city. Above them, the clouds part, revealing the massive flying fortress of the Esharim. Fear threatens to paralyze me once more, but my legs move before I can even think. I run, because there’s nothing else I can do.
As I run through the streets of Solcarra, half-blind from smoke and dust, chaos is erupting around me. Soldiers charge past me with their shields raised, while others flee as more spheres slam down. Down the different streets I run past, I see the Esharim towering over the soldiers of the dawn, while elsewhere, the planetars have joined the fight to tear into the godless with their radiance. I run, knowing that if I stop, I will die.
The fight is not a slaughter. The Dawn does not break so easily. I see a red skinned corpse with a spear through its throat, another driven into the ground by a deva’s mace. But it is chaos, and the enemy has fallen upon us like a storm, coming when we believed the end of the war was in our hands. And as I stumble through the broken streets, ears ringing with battlecries and screams, I realize that even if we should survive this day - even if we should win - this army will no longer be the one to end their godless night. The war is not yet won.
The hollowness of hopelessness building in my chest almost fills me, until I turn down a street, seeing something that yet fills me with hope. As dust is settling from yet another crash, I see the shapes of six more Esharim pulling themselves from their pod, shrieking in their cursed tongue. And then I see him.
The Hero steps forward, his greatsword in hand. It is carved from dragonbone, runes burning down along its length, and as the first Esharim lunges, he raises the shard to cleave it in a single stroke. The second swings high, but the Hero twists beneath the strike, driving his weapon through the Esharim’s chest. The remaining four charge as one, but the hero doesn’t falter. He moves along them like a storm, the dragonbone flashing faster than my eyes can follow.
For a moment, watching the Hero carve his way through the Esharim, I believe again. I raise my hand in a fist, and feel the zeal once more as I yell at the top of my lungs.
“HALLOWSO-”
The word dies in my throat as the world erupts beside me. The street splits open as something crashes. The world turns over as I’m thrown like a ragdoll. I can hear nothing. My whole body is cold. My right eye sees dust, debris and washed out images, my left eye nothing. My spine is broken, and my legs don’t work. My right arm is gone.
As the dust settles, I see a shape looming through the daze. At first I think it is rubble or a toppled statue hunched in the street. Then I realize it is alive. And it is crouching.
It uncoils to its full height, towering above me. Three meters of bulging crimson muscle sheathed in black armor that glistens like oil. Its shoulders are thick enough to block out what little light shines on me through the dust, its arms are thick as pillars, and every movement is heavy with impossible strength. The air ripples around it as a psionic barrier dies down across its frame.
This is not a man, or a soldier. It is a titan. And in that moment, as I stare up at it, I realize the godless have gods of their own creation.
And it is looking at me.
It takes a step towards me, laughing and speaking in its own hideous language. I moan something in fear.
There’s a sudden pressure in my chest. It pulls away, its hand holding something red, as it speaks a single word in common.
“Weak.”
Then, it takes a bite out of my heart.