The Ebon Wall

The winds howl as the brooding clouds cover the azure sky in darkness, while the bombarding droplets fall from above one after the other, never seeming to cease its endless cries of tears.

Below the dark sky rests a wall of terror. A wall which is high enough that simple ladders can't scale. A wall so broad and lengthy that it stretches for a couple of kilometers, and at the wall’s ends, mountains that reach the clouds, ascending to the Divines.

Between the openings of the two separate yet connected mountains it stands. It is a sentinel that guards against intruders who seek to pass beyond its massive gates. A wall of legend, a wall that has been there for millennia. A wall that is pure; its foundation is made of the most spectacular stone, which disappeared into tales.

It is from a long lost civilization that once stood on the high pedestal of Godhood of this world, but no more, only ancient catacombs, temples, and nature-covered remnants remain. In its glory over time has made it the gateway to endless success. Those who have it reigns triumphant, for beyond the unopened gates rule a Queendom where the most exceptional materials lie.

Nourishment of the earth to give the farmlands nurture to bring out its fullest potential. Minerals embedded within the ground, caves, and mountains. The infinite colored gemstones and ores. It’s a country of wealth and power that has its grasp on the wall. They feast on the land's limitless resources.

They control it to stop the endless hordes that seek to conquer it, to capture the Queendom for themselves. But since the nurtured lands have never suffered defeat, it has arisen to become the most prominent realm in this world. Though, through its many successes in defending the wall, it has also become the targeted land for war. A war that never ceases, a war that instills hatred in their enemy, for they throw their armies at it, time and time again.

It has the blackest color of stonework and those who try to siege it, stain it with their quantity of crimson blood. Rivers of red dye has saturated the earth while the corpses upon corpses have rotten away, giving it fertilizers to grow the nature unnaturally fast, and the bones have rotted there, too, for ages and will lay there for the years to come.

That lies in front of the wall. Death and devastation. It has a damaged landscape on the attacker’s side, but yet it still grows woodlands from the cultivated demise of men and women that come at short intervals to die, again and again.

The scarlet forest, it lies a couple of kilometers in front of the wall. It grows unusually. The red woodlands should’ve disappeared ages ago, but it still produces trees no matter how many times it’s cut to sunder.

Many decaying siege weapons stand damaged in front of the wall as well. They’re unmanned because no army is there to fix those broken constructs, only the silence of an upcoming battle that will befall the wall oozes in the humid air. A plain of quietness that awaits the thousands of stomping footsteps, hooves, and the grinding wheels of siege constructions, bringing the battle to the wall.

………

……

…

“Haaa,” a young man breathes out his worries as his head droops. He’s trying to stay calm, but the sight in front of his eyes awaken his uncertainties. He stands beside the countless men and women that guard the fortification against the enemy that's coming out from the red forest.

The allied siege weapons stand fully ready on the wall forty meters behind the young man; trebuchets that fling huge rocks at their enemies, crushing them to paste if hit.

This young man, this… human… is on the rampart, holding bow and arrow in his hands. He’s armored from top to toe with tightly fit tattered light plate armor that covers his whole body.

His leather armor is dyed black while his plate armor that covers most of his body is in a scarlet-red color. No insignia, no markings that indicate this young man's family. Though, the other people that surround him wear more expensive materials on their bodies. Armors of high-standing households engraved with their family insignia. However, not everyone is like them. Some are like this young man, coming to the Ebon Wall to make a living.

The country is practically always at war with the incoming forces. It means that soldiers are still in high demand. Excellent payment can be collected by shooting out arrows at the enemy that would be charging beneath the rampart, down by the field of death.

The young man squeezes harder onto his bow and arrow. But the bow he grasps differs from the other various people's bows. It’s made of the darkest material, and its bowstring is also black. A bow of supernatural elements. Those who look upon it would think that he is honoring the country’s colors, for the flag of the Queendom is red and black. And black is its primary color.

It represents the Ebon Wall, the reddened grass in front of it, and the scarlet forest.

…

As he gazes out at the horizon with his blackened globes, he sees the rain that pours from the clouds. An endless flood of water. But he sharpens his eyes toward the forest where his fears awaken while he frowns with his dark eyebrows – death comes.

Tens of thousands of armed forces march toward the Ebon Wall as the sound of rumbling comes from their sheer number. The enemy is in front of him; the soldiers of different countries have begun preparing to attack this wall of darkness which guards the Queendom behind it.

Since the forest ends a couple of kilometers before the wall, it makes the battle terrain a flat landscape, which has the newly grown crimson grass. A bed of blood moving with the soaring wind as the rain shower its hundreds of thousands of straws; the weather feeds it, making it grow and grow even more.

He gulps in intervals, for an upcoming storm, which will be fiercer than the brooding sky above him, will commence…

…

The rain keeps descending, showering the soldiers on the wall and in front.

While the young man, he puts his arrow back into his brown-leather quiver, which is hanging on his waist. As his hand frees itself, he scratches and shakes his black hair that has been watered by the downpour of rain. It would usually be slicked-back, pointing backward, making him too daunting with his scarred left brow, though it’s only a small scar, which didn’t heal properly.

His facial features finally harden as he frowns again at the scenery of soldiers marching obediently toward the gates below, to their own deaths. And since the Ebon Wall has three grand entrances, the Queendom has stationed her army there. Those doors' thicknesses have made it so only once in history has a gate ever been destroyed.

When that barrier was torn asunder by the enemy, they had rejoiced, but what awaited the enemy beyond the ruined gateway was another gate with the same thickness that the first one had, which shattered their hearts into millions of pieces. For those entrances have never been opened, they can’t be opened by the current controllers of the wall. Because they weigh tons upon tons as if some power holds them completely shut.

Almost like the doors aren’t even doors.

But as the controllers can't open them, Those Who Came Before made small entrances that riddle the bottom floor of the Ebon Wall where the Queendom’s army strikes from. They bring forth their own soldiers to guard the front gates so the enemy can’t ever destroy one of the gateways again.

Leaning forward, the young man gazes down from the steep edge, for he's stationed at the very front of the archers. He sees thousands of soldiers that are below him; his own Queendom’s siege weapons of smaller sizes than those on the wall have been brought forth to fire upon the incoming enemy’s charge.

*OOOUUUHHH!*

The sounding horns of the men and women on the wall roar! Such dark tones that it makes people stiff and uneasy, but it’s also a signal to the archers and siege workers to draw their bows and ready their constructs, so they're prepared to fire upon command.

The young man then draws out the recently put in arrow with a swift reflexing yank, to place it on his black bow. The shaft of the arrow rests on his thumb while he holds the nock of the arrow with two fingers.

He does what everyone else does. He draws the black string to its max without breaking a sweat; it's easy for him as if holding an imaginary bow that has zero pulling force, which would usually keep it in place. Practically bends to his will.

“On command, my soldiers! You volley down upon our enemies!!” a young woman commands at the top of her voice as she holds onto a sounding horn, bracing herself to give the go-ahead to fire. “Give them no quarter! No mercy! Let the enemies of our great Queendom die a miserable fate when our arrows pierce their bodies! My squadron, be ready!”

All of the different commanders of the wall are shouting out war-cries to rally the various squads of archers and siege workers. But nonetheless futile since they are at the safest place there is.

*OOUUUUHHHH!*

The horns echo once more on the Ebon Wall to let them know that their time to release everything upon their enemy below has come.

A tremor of footsteps and hooves; the enemies charge forward as they run in a quickened haste of no-return. Only death awaits. If they retreat, they still die. Cavalries, foot soldiers, archers, and heavy-armored soldiers march onward to the wall. Thousands upon thousands of forces make their way, but as their eyes wander to the sky; shrieks, cries, and horrors rain down with no pity whatsoever.

The shouts of alarm as the eyes widen to see the black cover of total darkness.

The arrows shriek as they tear through armor and flesh, while the boulders smash the ground with tremendous rolling power, making most of the charging soldiers die in a blink of an eye. But the masses keep on running with maddening conviction as death surrounds them.

As the soldiers retain their most accelerated speed, the first wave of cavalries come first upon the wall’s gates. But panic shoots through them as they see what’s in store for their puny, miserable existences.

First, there was a line of soldiers that were standing guard in front of the three front gates, but now, they’ve gone to the sides, revealing the small siege weapons; ballistae that shoot many large arrow-like projectiles at the same time.

With the sound of blowing horns from the commanders down by the gates, the small siege weapons release their shrieking noises. Making the air itself cover its eyes from the upcoming slaughter of humans and horses.

As the weapons shoot out and hit the targets, desperate cries call out in misery. Screams of horror from the holes of newly pierced bodies which the blood seep out of, and the total death that now lies there on the reddened grass in front of the Ebon Wall. Now the blood overflows the ground, making it even redder than its already reddened state, feeding it even more.

Almost every one of the first charging wave died a meaningless death. Those who escaped the endless darkness now fear for their lives, for they hide among the dead corpses of men, women, and mounts, covering themselves in their comrades’ blood and guts.

The projectiles shot with such force that they went in a straight line, and did not lose any of their speed even as they hit their targets; the missiles had continued forward through the spear-wielding foot soldiers and the arrow-shooting archers until they hit the shield-bearing soldiers at the back. Zero coordination in sight, almost as if their fates have already been decided, which it has.

More and more waves go forth as they bellow their maddening roar because they see their fellow allies die beside them as they charge, charge and charge toward the gates, a never-ending cycle of wave after wave has commenced.

--

--

“I’m out of arrows! And the buckets are empty over here! Runner! Fetch me some more!” a male archer yells as he snatches an arrow from one of his squad members that stands beside him, but no thankful word comes from him, only an arrogant voice from his teeth-revealing mouth. “Shoot faster you complete amateurs, haven’t you learned anything from your training?!”

But before he can send away the stolen arrow, his one eye ticks as he catches the young man glancing at his direction, though the black-haired man sighs, looking upon the noble that’s armored to the bone with plate armor in the country’s red and black colors. It creaks from every move he makes, making it hard to get around in.

It is exaggerated to the max, like most of the soldiers’ armors on the rampart. Every single one is safe from harm, yet the exaggeration is unbelievable.

“What are you looking at, you dog?!” the man barks, seeing the peering eyes of darkness, which makes him uneasy as his brows lower to scowl.

Without saying anything in return, the young man turns his black-haired head towards the army below while putting an arrow in place. ‘He shouldn’t fire off that many arrows so fast. He’ll exhaust himself while wearing that armor…’ Chuckling in secret, he draws and releases with such precision.

*Swoosh*

The arrow soars through the air and hits the head of a horse which throws the mounted man flying to the crimson ground. But right as the man hits the grass, his fellow cavalry runs him over, breaking bones and coughing up blood.

It causes a chain-reaction from that single arrow because the charging horses that keep on coming stumbles upon the animal’s massive corpse, sending even more mounted people to the ground. It halts a few enemies to give the soldiers at the gates breathing room. However, the young man’s scarred brow raises in delight. ‘Wow. Did not expect that to happen.’

The noble scoffs at the darkling that now keeps on firing off in quick succession. The young man tries to imitate the cause and effect of his previous arrow. With every release of his string, corpses start to form a barrier.

Where the arrows land he sees, which is extraordinary, not ordinary, for he misses nothing. His eyes are so dark that the irises and pupils have the same color, but… hiding deep is something that shouldn’t ever be awakened. The untapped possibilities. Not even he knows why his sight differs from everyone else. He can see every movement from a far away distance, and it makes him too skilled in handling the bow.

He continues to fire out his self-made arrows, though he slows down as his quiver begins to empty. Instead, he doesn’t actually fire at all, just standing there to get paid. And when someone notices him, he starts again. His supplies aren’t infinite, only the ones he brought from home to increase his pay since most soldiers are oblivion to saving money.

………

……

…

An hour goes by, and the young man still hasn’t fired off too many of his remaining arrows. Likewise has his teammates. They’re taking breaks on and off, even the now-silent noble who has strained himself from shooting too fast.

But the battle is far from over.

Leaning forward with bow and arrow in hand, he gauges the fighting in front of the gates. Though the intensity of the waves is diminishing because the enemy always puts their strongest to lead the charge, to break through the Queen’s ebon shield wall. The thousands of allied forces that protect the three gates are the best of the best, as such, almost no casualties occur.

‘So many bodies… And for what?’ He scoffs to himself, shaking his head in pity. ‘I can’t imagine the horrors that the enemy must endure before coming here. To suffer such miserable fates.’

Only those of the highest echelon in the realm know what or who controls these pitiable creatures. Their humanity is without a doubt real. But under the thousands of years, they have transformed into beings unlike their ancient kin – the people they are currently fighting.

Nevertheless, the objective of these… slaves… are that their lives must be sacrificed. A game or not, there is no return, only forward to death – to peace.

…

A sudden chilling stare pierces the back of his head, making him turn and bend down as if trying to act like he’s refilling his quiver to scout behind him. But the yelling of commands and the hurrying of people, all around him, causes him to frown since he has felt that very stare for over four years, yet every time he seeks those cold eyes, he always ends up dissatisfied.

‘Is it…? No, surely not…’ He spins back to gaze at the field of death. But as his eyes squint in impatience, that coldness returns. He shouldn’t feel it. However, he isn’t precisely an average human being. He endures it, puts it out of his mind as he crouches to undo the string around his arrow bundle. ‘Fifty more, better make it count.’

He fills his quiver until it’s full, then without so much as breaking a sweat, he continues with his wall. A wall that has indeed saved someone from being overrun by slaves. Even one single less enemy can aid an ally down by the middle gate, below him.

Just as he is about to draw his bowstring, a lioness roars, startling him, “What kind of miserable louts are you?! Continue firing! I take my eyes away from you for just a minute, and you take breaks?! I won’t stand for weakness! No matter how tired you are, you will not embarrass me! If you wish to sleep, go ahead and jump off the wall! Eternal slumber awaits you there!”

He rolls his eyes because it’s such hypocrisy. One spout out orders while sitting comfortably on a chair with a canvas in front. His commander is a lazy lady, only doing the most menial of work, that is, shouting at the top of her lungs when it suits her...

………

……

…

After a few more hours the battle ends. Undeniably it was a slaughter. So quick and so merciless.

The enemy didn’t stand a chance because the dead now lies on the reddened grass, and it isn’t the Queen’s soldiers. Corpses on top of corpses, blood mixing with blood, and cries echoing cries. It’s a terrifying sight even for the most veteran pair of eyes. The enemy’s siege engines and weapons have broken down before ever reaching the wall.

Down by the gates, the Queendom’s soldiers suffered less than the enemy, yet unfortunately, some died, and some will lose their lives from the lacerations that they sustained when fighting off the first horde.

The unwounded soldiers and healers start to carry the wounded men and women through the small side entrances by the three massive gates. Though the middle gate is located further inside the wall, for the first layer had been destroyed years ago. Their siege weapons are also broken, yet they’re still fixable, for the enemy only damaged them so they couldn’t shoot out more piercing projectiles of death.

It’s still a victory for the Ebon Wall’s army since the remaining enemy flees towards the red forest… to their deaths as the roars of triumph echo throughout the armed forces on the wall and down by the gates. The Queendom has once again won with ease. Such scary might of an army that guards this wall of darkness.

One can almost miss the rain which has also ceased its downpour, and from the distant sky displays a golden sunset that descends at the horizon. Soon it’ll become the dawn of night.

Though this is just a regular day for an archer on the wall; shooting out arrows one after the other, not knowing who they hit, not knowing who they killed.

“It is our victory, my squad!! You did reasonably well!” his commander yells as she looks around at the exhausting faces of her archers with a smirk. “We have won! Our duty here today is finished! Until next time the enemy comes to seek our Queendom harm!”

Her squad cheers, no, every single one on top of the ramparts bellows and brags about how many kills they got, even the young man breathes a sigh of relief.

“Yes, yes, I know! I have trained you all well! But listen up! Gather up at my family’s payment stall if you want your earnings!” the woman shouts as she eyes proudly upon her subordinates, yet with a hint of arrogance showing in her smile. “And no matter how much I hate saying this… we will continue training in three days in the regular courtyard. You’ve earned these days of vacation, spend them well! Because I will!”

“Dismissed!”

As she finishes her speech, she begins to sway her hips towards the large stairs on the backside of the wall, alluring the men even the women with her strutting legs and well-practiced arms. A true noble to the bone.

Her squad splits off and goes their separate ways toward their chosen locations; to the barracks to sleep, to journey home, or the other various activities that the army would do after a victorious battle on the wall.

Archers are the rotten egg. The profession is useful, though it’s the lowest kind of job in the eyes of the soldiers that battle down by the gates. Since not a single archer risks their lives as they do. Those who fight in the thickets of the clashing armies are always the first to boast; spilling blood with their own hands and not from the work of some tiny arrow that hits its targets at random.

Though there is another group that stands above the gate soldiers. Magicians. But, they didn’t show up in this battle, they rarely do, because it would’ve been such a waste of an effort if they revealed themselves to give aid.

Magicians are the last defense if the Ebon Wall's gates would be breached. Only then would they show themselves to utter the words of magic, to save their Queendom from harm. To do what they're supposed to do; to protect their country, for their orders come from the Queen herself. A figurehead, a Goddess who controls them with a chain around their necks.

…

As the young man treads down the backside of the wall with all the other archers and siege workers of the various squads, he walks with an empty quiver. He doesn’t have an appealing face at the moment. His dark eyebrows are frowning and his mouth, curved down because he wasted too many arrows in the fit of firing. He should have saved some for the next battle.

He shakes his head as he sighs out in exhaustion.

It's arrows that cost money, the precious money that he needs for other things. Though only the arrow-heads is what he pays for because he makes the other components himself, instead of paying for them through his squad and get less compensation after every battle.

“Hmph, I should’ve taken it easier,” the young man says, gazing down at his empty quiver, not even watching his step. From all the scenery that he had viewed, it would generally make him feel pity toward the enemy, but now, nothing, he’s just tired and wants to go home.

“I hope I won’t return too late,” the young man wishes as he keeps on descending the broad flight of stairs. He decides to quicken his strides toward the payment stall to get his well-earned due.

……

…

Standing there by the row of people, he sighs while rubbing his eyes. He should have sprinted down the wall because he’s in the middle of the row and it will probably take a half an hour or an entire hour for the other squad members to get their wages.

His fellow comrades also chat happily with each other, but not with him, for it was a glorious battle, a day of celebration, a day where one should feel proud to be in this Queendom. But he is too tired to feel anything but drowsiness that begins to sink in, showing on his eyelids.

…

The archers get their payment one after the other, and finally, it’s the young man’s turn. He takes two eager steps forward as the archer in front bows, and thanks for being in the commander’s grace then leaves to not take up her precious time.

Bowing also for formalities sake, he meets her icy blue eyes while she greets with a broad smirk.

“Ah... Hello there… Xe'Reth.”

……

…