In Part One, we find our protagonist Malikai in command of a contingent
of Dawn Brigade troops, preparing to defend their position from a group of undead creatures.
Will he survive this encounter?
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The heavy, blackened steel armor covering Malikai's body felt even heavier than usual, as he peered out across the many miles of the blasted lands, seeing foes coming ever closer. He ran his fingers through his long, black hair before replacing his helm and hefting his long-bladed Katana. He peered back at the long line of men which made up the Dawn Brigade of New Celest. "The dead are coming closer." He said, unable to keep the small, fearful pitch out of his voice. For afraid he was. Nothing in the past 38 years of his life had prepared him for the events of the past year.

First the taintlings had started experimenting with the dead. And that was fine, it was nothing new. They had always done so, without any large-scale problems. But then, by the Gods, did it get out of control! He grimaced as he thought of the unsuspecting villagers of Acknor, overrun in the night by hordes of undead creatures with an unsatiable taste for the flesh of the living. Then the creatures had turned on their masters, and Magnagora was overrun and, for all intents and purposes, destroyed. "And good riddance," he thought, with a small surge of hatred. The horde in front of them stretched for two miles across, and one mile deep. A solid mass of undead Human, Loboshigaru and Aslaran soldiers, all hungry for blood. He could smell the putrid stink of their rotting flesh even from where they stood, two or three miles off. He saw several of them chewing on unspeakable things as they stumbled, walked, or crawled towards their position.

They had thrown up hastily-built, rickety barricades of wood and stones, forming the small, fort-like enclosure where they now stood. Several step-ladders were put in place, and archers were already in them, waiting for the dead to come into range of their deadly projectiles. Three hundred men, and some women, were standing about, armored and scared-looking. Some had weapons drawn and were using sharpening stones on them, perhaps hoping that if their weapons were just a bit sharper, it would give them the edge they needed to survive the battle to come. Others were speaking hasty prayers to their favorite supernals or Gods, asking for good fortune and bravery when the time came. Still others simply looked as if they were going to be sick.

Sir Morden Valiere, one of his captains, approached him and saluted hastily. Malikai returned it and looked at him in askance. "Lord, we have a problem," He said. "What a surprise," Answered Malikai sarcastically. "What is it this time?" Sir Morden swallowed before answering, as if afraid to choke out the words. "Lord, our supply line has been cut off, I think. Our runners have not returned, and they should have, by now. I think that we're being isolated here, my Lord." He looked positively terrified at the thought. Malikai cursed. "Impossible! They're undead! They have no order or strategy, except to kill! Unless..." An unpleasant thought had just occurred to him. What if the taintlings hadn't lost control of the undead? What if the control had been taken from them? Malikai sighed. The only way the creatures they faced could have any sense of order or strategy was if a powerful Nihilist priest had control over them. Malikai looked at the reddened sky for a moment before speaking. "Well. It matters not, at least for now. We still have the closer enemy in front of us to deal with. Then we can deal with the one behind." He peered through a slit in the hastily built fort towards the enemy. They were too close for comfort. The archers were slinging arrows to their bows already, preparing to loose them.

Soon, too soon, it was time to get ready for the assault. "To the walls! To the walls! Draw thy blades!" Malikai roared, and the answering ring of steel in the air was deafening, almost as deafening as the pounding of the steel greaves of three hundred men and women over the ground. They got to the walls and inserted their blades through cracks and purposefully made slits, preparing to stab and slash at anything that came close enough to the walls. The Twang! of dozens of arrows being loosed at once heralded the beginning of the bloodshed. Those undead who were hit squarely in the head dropped instantly as their brain matter was pierced and destroyed; those who were not hit in the head, however, kept on. It was unnerving to see one human undead walking with seven arrows sticking out of his chest and stomach, as if absolutely nothing was wrong. For of course the dead did not require the heart, or the lungs, or anything in that region, for they did not breathe and their blood remained still and cold in their veins. Though they were on the side of light, though he and all his soldiers had come here, to the blasted lands outside of Magnagora to defeat this evil scourge, his blood went cold at the sight, and he was afraid.

Soon the dead were at the walls, a huge crush of bodies which threatened to overturn the whole thing though sheer weigh of bodies.Limbs were hewed, flesh torn asunder, as the shining steel of their weapons hacked into the horde of undead. The steady twang of arrows, the ringing of steel, and the groans of the undead were the only sounds heard. The rest of the world ceased to exist. It was as if they had been enclosed in a bubble in space and time, and there was only them, and the undead. Suddenly, there were yells and cries of alarm at the north wall from the soldiers. Malikai looked over and his heart stopped for a moment.

The wall was being pushed down by the weight. Time seemed to slow as the wall first sagged inward, held its position, then, with a Crack! the support beams snapped and the wall toppled to the floor, a ragged mob of decaying flesh tumbling, crawling, limping over it. He lept towards the hole, his Katana aloft as he cried out; "Methrenton is in my blade, thy wicked, thy foul..." Before he was finished speaking, he was upon them. With a backhand slash, he removed the head of one undead taurian, and used the leftover momentum for an upward stroke which hewed another
in two. All around him were cries...cries of rage, and cries of painful agony. He saw as Morden was set upon by five of the undead; his helm was ripped from his head and teeth sank into his neck. He saw similar scenes all about him, but the Brigade was doing well for the most part. There was young Jirai, a new recruit from the village of Estelbar. His axe shone as every wide stroke hewed the head off of one or several of the enemy at a time. And then there was Kalann, one of the sole survivors of the village of Acknor. He was old, having seen perhaps sixty-two summers, but he held his own. His twin rapiers flashed through the air, piercing through the eye sockets, mouths, throats, and even ears, going directly to the brains and dropping the undead where they stood. And then there was Kierden, the lovely Elfen warrior. She had come from the Serenwilde commune. Though enemies in the past, she fought alongside the Brigade bravely, using her shield to bash those who came too close, and her longsword to hew the head of any within range.

Malikai hacked at the enemies all around him. Soon the bodies piled up; it became hard to move and maneuver, and he was soon backed into the south wall of their enclosure. He chanced a glance at the east wall, which was still holding. The bodies outside it had piled to such a point where the dead were now able to climb over them and launch themselves over the wall. Piercing screams resounded throughout the area as his troops were torn to shreds by the teeth and claws of the undead enemies. Malikai lunged at a particularly wicked looking tainted human. It had an ear
in its mouth, and was chewing on it grotesquely. It soon stopped, however, as Malikai's katana entered its head through the space under its jaw. With a flourish, he ripped the katana from the head of the enemy and swung 'round, beheading another which had got behind. The battle looked lost, and he was now concentrating on finding a way out with as many of his soldiers intact as possible.

He reached down and gripped the whistle around his neck, peering around. The west wall looked relatively clear. He ran towards it, hacking and slashing, and blew his whistle. "Fly! We must fly! To the west! the west!" He cried out.They would fly to the woodlands, he thought, and hide for the night. He saw several people running in his direction.Too few, he thought. As they came closer he realized that they were Jirai, Kalann, Kierden, and two other men whom he recognized by sight but not by name. He later found out that one was Tulan, of New Celest, and one was Halfir, of Delport.

He kicked over the supports for the wall, and as it collapsed, they escaped over it into the deepening night.