Welcome To the newest chapter of 'Fallen Honor'!! Vote and comment if you DARE! 

*slight wArNinG for battle scene descriptions*

The art above was drawn by Annkh-Redox (She's amazing) Again, I'm hopefully gonna get me a better drawing program and start churning out my own stuff...so this is temporary (and friggin awesome).

PLEASE check out her art at -  https://www.deviantart.com/annkh-redox

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RECAP

          Dyle raised his sword as lightning struck a tree behind the army with an earsplitting, CRACKKKKK!!!!!!!

          His horse reared and bolted, "Chaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrge!!!"

          Bowstrings released with a thrumming hum as the soldiers behind him roared, raising their blades as one, and starting after him. Arrows hissed viciously through the rain. The pounding of the soldiers' boots was a deafening answer to the sky's thunder.

          To his thunder.

          It was a salute to death.

          White, shining eyes opened to the army before them.

END OF RECAP

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          Within the ranks of charging soldiers, about eight rows deep into the mass, a young man of about twenty-two years of age struggled under the weight of his ill-fitting chest plate and too-big helmet. He was small for his age, and muscle didn't come naturally on his thin frame. He kept tripping over his iron sword, though his equipment wasn't the main reason for his stumbling.

          He was terrified.

          His heart pounded against his ribs, sweat drenched him, though he couldn't have gotten much wetter. The rain made sure of that. An overdose of adrenalin had his senses on overload, he heard everything, smelled everything, saw everything.

          The first of the screams rang out, bloodcurdling and full of agony. The general Dyle had fallen.

           He wasn't going to be the only death, that fateful night.

          The young man shuddered violently at that scream. He gasped and panted, bit back a scream of his own as his stomach lurched. He tried not to think about the meal he'd eaten just a few hours before.

          It could very well have been his last.

          More screams and wails now answered Dyle's final cry. Soldiers at the front of the ranks were being tossed in the air, the lightning illuminated their twisted bodies as they plummeted back to earth.

          The young man finally tripped and fell flat. He was up and running again before he even registered the pain of the fall. He spat out mud and winced as a raindrop landed in one of his blue eyes. Dirt smeared his once-shiny chest plate and cyan tunic. The soldier next to him, an older man, slowed his pace to match the young man's, "Boy, you've got to keep up or risk being trampled." The older man panted, his footsteps pounding in time with his deep breaths. The young man nodded wordlessly and tried to increase his pace, but it was so hard.

          So hard to try and run faster to your place of death.

          To your executioner.

          Before he was ready, he burst onto a terrifying scene, rain-washed and lit with lightning.

          The young man halted, forgot his sword amid the chaos of the sight before him. The glowing-eyed man, their target, was taking down soldiers left and right, flinging the bodies of the fallen onto the swords of their own comrades. Agonized wails rent the air, and the rain was riddled with drops of blood flung from the soldiers' mangled bodies. Soldiers pushed roughly past the frozen young man, charging willingly to their deaths. The young man's chest seized up...he knew some of these soldiers. He willed himself to pick up his sword, to rush down to the crazed fighter and take a jab at him, but his body seemed paralyzed, detached. He knew he'd die.

          The White-Eyed One suddenly started to laugh. His crazed, dark laughter grew and grew and his glowing eyes brightened fiercely with each death and scream. He was covered in the blood of the slain, and he seemed to come alive.

          The young man shuddered till his teeth chattered, his eyes still focused on the bloodbath in front of him. His instincts and training were at war. His training begged his honor. Would he really turn tail on all his allies and flee like a wretched coward?

          His will to live pulled on him to run, to save his own skin. He wouldn't stand a chance against the crazed demon.

          Suddenly, an armored, mangled body was hurled at the young man. It caught him square in the chest plate and forced all the air out of his lungs. It carried him back through the air for at least five blocks before it hit the ground and rolled off him. The young man lay in the mud, rain stinging his muddy face as he coughed and gasped to get air back into his lungs. He groaned and rolled to his side before forcing himself to his hands and knees, though he was still unsteady from the solid blow. He coughed again, then noticed his right wielding arm was empty. His sword had been knocked from his grasp. He panicked and started franticly patting the mud around him, whipping his head back and forth, "Where did it go!?" If he were found by the blank-eyed man without his sword, he'd be dead within a few seconds with no way to retaliate.

          "S-Steve?"

          The young man froze at the soft voice. He slowly turned his gaze to the body on the ground, a mere five blocks away. The sounds of battle faded to a blurry murmur behind him. A soft brown eye stared at him, full of pain. The horribly deformed man groaned, but wouldn't, couldn't, move. He was on his side, and both his arms and one leg lay in impossible angles, and his neck was bent unnaturally, "S...Ste-ve?"

          The young man, Steve, stood on wobbly legs and staggered towards the downed man, ignoring the increase of agonized screaming behind him. He fell to his knees beside the dying soldier. Lightning split the sky again, illuminating the soldier's horribly cut face, his patient brown eyes. Steve reached a hand out, then pulled it back, unsure of what to do, "Wh-what do I do? I...I don't know how to help you, I'm so sorry, Rand!"

          The soldier, Rand, took in a shaky breath of air. His breathing was shallow and ragged, and a stream of blood ran from the corner of his mouth, "R-run...Steve...Don't...look...b-back." He coughed weakly.

          He was dying.

          Steve felt tears stream from his eyes. He grasped the sides of his head and rocked back and forth on his knees, "No...NO!! Please, Rand..."

          With a final ragged gasp, Rand's eyes clouded over. Steve sobbed and took the soldier's bloody head in his lap. Rand had been the one that encouraged Steve through the hardest bits of training, had kept the ruder soldiers from picking on him for his obvious lack of muscle mass. He'd encouraged Steve before the battle, saying they'd go and eat their dinner on the battlefield in triumph. He'd told Steve he had a little daughter. A precious baby girl.

          She would never know her father.

          An animalistic roar caused Steve to jerk back to reality. He whipped his head back over his shoulder, the breath hitching in his chest, tears blurring his vision.

          The White-Eyed Demon was charging through the ranks of soldiers. There were only about a thousand or so left. The rest were bloodied corpses strewn on the rain-soaked battlefield. The soldiers had begun to flee for the forest, and the crazed man was cutting them down even as they ran. The demon got in-between the escaping warriors and the woods they were straining to reach, to hide in, slaughtering them without mercy with his bare hands.

          Steve gently laid Rand's head down. He leapt up and, with a final glance at his dead friend, did as he'd been bidden.

          He turned and ran.

          Away from the slaughter.

          Away from the demon.

          Away from everything he'd grown to love.

          He fled to the land of the Dark Rocks.

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I'm so Notch darn excited about this book...hope you all are as well! Don't miss an update and follow me! Also, vote and comment, please! Lol I'm now officially a 'Wattpadder' whatever that is...