Blood of the first Age Chapter 16

 

Chapter 16  The Red Dunes

The desert turned red long before the battle began. Not from sunset. Not from fire. But from blood. For weeks the armies of Vahsravia and Baalania carved paths of destruction across western Molochia, leaving behind burning cities, shattered fortresses, and endless corpse fields swallowed slowly by drifting dunes. The war no longer resembled conquest. It resembled extinction.

Entire trade routes vanished beneath ash storms while rivers became clogged with bodies from both kingdoms. Refugees wandered endlessly through the wasteland searching for surviving settlements only to find blackened ruins and crucified dead beneath the symbols of one empire or the other.

And above all of it the skies remained wrong. Storm clouds gathered unnaturally over regions where Dragun marched while infernal heat waves followed the movements of Mehmeth’s armies.

Even nature itself had chosen sides. The final clash came at the Red Dunes of Qarith.

An enormous desert basin surrounded by jagged obsidian cliffs and ancient ruins buried beneath crimson sand. Long ago the region had been the site of forgotten holy wars between civilizations now erased from history.

The desert still remembered. Because bones constantly resurfaced from beneath the dunes whenever storms passed through. Millions of them. General Zerafin surveyed the battlefield from atop a black war ridge as thunder rolled across distant skies.

Below him stretched the eastern war host: The vampire knight legions, silver artillery crawlers, storm priests and mounted blood cavalry along with human volunteers from fallen kingdoms seeking revenge against Baalania.

At the center of the army stood gothic siege towers draped in crimson banners snapping violently beneath cold desert winds.And somewhere behind the lines

Dragun watched silently. Across the basinthe armies of Baalania gathered like an approaching inferno. Thousands upon thousands of warriors covered the dunes beneath black-and-gold banners while sacred fire braziers burned across the battlefield like moving stars.

The desert kingdom had brought everything: The inferno priests and bronze siege beasts.  The Ashsteed cavalry, fanatical holy warriors and colossal Dreadhorn war beasts armored in obsidian steel.

At the center stood the giant black war platform of Sultan Mehmeth himself. And beside him Prince Azrakar. The Flame Prince.

The air between both armies distorted unnaturally.

Cold winds collided against infernal heat.

Thunderclouds spiraled above the eastern lines while red firestorms churned above the western dunes.

Two supernatural disasters approached one another across the battlefield.And trapped between them were tens of thousands of soldiers.

Father Lucian whispered prayers beneath trembling hands.

“This land will never recover from today…”

Nobody answered him.

Because everyone already knew. The war horns sounded at dawn. And the world exploded. Inferno cannons roared first. Massive black fire shells screamed across the battlefield before detonating among eastern formations in catastrophic eruptions of flame and molten sand. Entire infantry lines vanished instantly while vampire cavalry burned alive beneath sacred firestorms.

Then the storm answered. Silver artillery thundered from Vahsravia’s siege crawlers while lightning struck directly into Baalanian ranks from the heavens above. Burning siege towers shattered apart beneath thunderbolts as ash and blood spiraled across the dunes.

Within moments the Red Dunes became hell. The armies collided beneath unnatural skies.

Vampire knights charged through sandstorms alongside human soldiers wielding silver spears while Baalanian holy warriors counterattacked beneath rivers of sacred flame. Steel clashed endlessly across crimson dunes while corpses vanished beneath shifting sands almost immediately after death.

No battle lines survived for long. The desert itself kept changing shape beneath explosions and supernatural storms. Then Mehmeth unleashed the inferno ritual. The Sultan raised both hands toward the burning heavens while inferno priests across the battlefield began chanting in unison.

The desert answered.

Entire dunes erupted upward into gigantic spiraling firestorms towering across the battlefield like living volcanoes. Rivers of molten glass spread across the sand while infernal winds incinerated soldiers where they stood.

The temperature rose violently. Armor melted. Horses screamed. Even vampire flesh began burning beneath the cursed heat.

General Zerafin watched in horror as one entire eastern battalion vanished beneath a moving wall of black fire.

“Retreat the center!”

But it was already too late.

The inferno storm kept growing.

And at its center

stood Mehmeth.

Calm.

Unmoving.

Like a god controlling apocalypse itself. Then the thunder arrived. The storm clouds above Vahsravia’s armies suddenly darkened into near-total night while freezing winds swept violently across the battlefield. Lightning exploded endlessly through the heavens as rain began falling across the desert for the first time in generations.

The soldiers froze in disbelief.

Rain.

In Molochia.

Dragun stepped forward through the storm.

His crimson-lined black armor moved beneath freezing winds while shadow bats spiraled across the darkened sky above him like fragments of living night.

The Blood Sovereign raised one hand.

And the heavens answered. A colossal thunderstorm descended upon the battlefield. Gigantic lightning strikes shattered entire dunes apart while freezing rain extinguished portions of Mehmeth’s infernal fires. Hurricane-force winds slammed into the Baalanian armies as black storm clouds swallowed the desert sky completely. The battlefield disappeared beneath supernatural catastrophe. Inferno storms against divine thunder. Fire against winter. Kings against kings.

The Red Dunes became impossible to survive.

Some soldiers drowned beneath sudden floodwaters created by the storm while others burned alive moments later beneath black infernal fire. Sand transformed into glass beneath explosive heat before freezing solid from Dragun’s unnatural cold winds.

Entire war beasts vanished beneath lightning strikes.

The sky itself screamed. And within the chaos the monsters walked freely.

Mordecai tore through the battlefield like a living execution engine wrapped in smoke and darkness. Baalanian cavalry shattered against him while giant Dreadhorn beasts collapsed beneath his claws in rivers of blood and black sand.

Meanwhile Tenji moved through the war overhead like a celestial spirit untouched by gravity. Shadow crows swarmed inferno priests across collapsing dunes while the Fairy glided effortlessly through thunderclouds illuminated by silver lightning.

Many soldiers stopped fighting entirely just to stare at him.

Because no human being should move that beautifully during war.

Then came Azrakar.

The Flame Prince charged directly into the eastern center beneath exploding infernal fire while sacred flames spiraled around him like dragons.

Entire formations collapsed before his assault.

The prince carved through vampire knights with terrifying speed while molten explosions followed every strike of his burning blade.

And directly ahead of him stood Zerafin Lumina.

Their second duel shook the battlefield.

Fire and silver lightning collided violently across collapsing dunes while storm winds and infernal heat exploded around them continuously. Zerafin fought with desperate precision while Azrakar attacked like unleashed destruction itself.

Neither gave ground. Neither showed fear. Far beyond them Dragun and Mehmeth finally faced one another across the battlefield.

The storm king. And the Black Sun Sultan. Thunder rolled overhead as infernal firestorms spiraled around the dunes between them.

Neither ruler moved immediately. Because both understood the truth. The moment they truly fought the war would become something far worse. Then the desert cracked open beneath them.

Ancient ruins buried for centuries suddenly emerged from beneath the Red Dunes as if the battlefield itself had awakened from slumber. Massive black stone structures rose from the sands while strange crimson symbols glowed beneath layers of dust and bone.

The armies paused.

Even the storms hesitated.

Something ancient slept beneath Qarith.

And the war had awakened it.