The sight was strange indeed. Damian knew he hadn't struck the man, quite the opposite, he knew he couldn't, his overwhelming intensity was too much to handle, and yet the sight of the crimson liquid on his rugged face gave him a glimmer of hope.
He knew the enchantment of the armour had worked differently than his shield, otherwise the Spearman's attacks would all be repelled backwards, but that hadn't been the case, so he had wondered on what his armour was actually doing, and now he had his answer.
Taking this brief second of respite, he raised his hand to his cheek, across its surface, a small cut had been etched into the stone.
The Spearman looked at him, his wicked smile grew wide as he spoke in a mocking tone,
"You think the sorcery of Hope will save you from me?
Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!
I'll pierce that shell of yours and gorge on your innards, even if it kills me, you vile soldier of Truth!
You may be the last ones to fall, but you will fall the same as the others, GLORY TO WAR!"
Damian barely had time to raise his spear as the man struck out, the sounds of steel on stone rang out from the battle like a chaotic symphony reaching its crescendo, with each strike, more and more strikes were appearing on the surface of the armour, until a sudden pain rang out from his arm,
He felt the stone break away from his skin for the first time. The chilling air of the night crept against his skin as the cool steel dug in. The pain made Damia stumble slightly before he was kicked in the stomach, dropping both his spear and shield to the ground by his side.
Now lying dazed with his back on the sand, he saw the Spearman standing above him, his eyes gleaming with a dark joy. He brought the spear up to his lips and licked the fresh blood off its surface.
His own arm was bleeding too, but the wound looked much less serious than the one he dealt Damian. It seemed even the armour had its limits.
Savouring the taste of victory for a few moments, he couldn't help but look his prey in the eyes. Usually, people had a look of fear or anger in their last moments, but he only saw pity and recollection.
Paying it no mind, he turned his weapon around, angling it to pierce the visor and end this fight before moving on to the next. Tensing his muscles, he struck down with all the strength his body could muster.
Before the spear could reach its mark, a loud noise, like two mountains being crushed together, reverberated, and the sound of splintering wood followed as a stone-like arm ripped through the spear's shaft, gripping the shattered remains near the base of the head.
The man fell forward, not able to register what had just happened below him, and before he could recover, a sharp pain stabbed into the side of his leg, as the remains of his spear were tearing away at his flesh.
Falling gracelessly onto his opponent's visage, hitting his head against the hard stone, his vision was lost for a moment. By the time he realised what had happened, Damian's hands were already around his throat.
Damian could feel the soft flesh of his opponent's neck under the stone armour covering his hands as he tightened his grip, feeling the life being squeezed from his opponent. He couldn't help but wince at the pain shooting through his arm.
After falling to the ground he knew he only had a few moments to act, so whilst his opponent was distracted on finishing him off he positioned his elbow against the shield before slamming into it with all of his might, by doing so he could carry as much momentum with him to be able to break his opponents weapon, it had worked better than he expected but at a cost.
As Damian struggled with his foe, he finally got on top of him, as he glanced at the remains of his shield. It was in terrible condition, to say the least. The recoil from the armour had been much more than he had hoped for.
Nonetheless, he was alive.
[You have Slain a Dormant Human, War legionnaire]
The words filled Damian with a sense of both pride and fear, pride because the battle was hard, the hardest challenge yet in this accursed trial, but fear, because there were thousands of others just like him over the dunes.
Just as he was getting up, the voice continued to speak, saying something he had never heard before,
[You have received a memory.]
Confused by these words but not paying them too much attention, he looked over the battlefield. Before him were hundreds of different battles, some between humans, some between man and beast and some were just beasts tearing each other apart.
In one section, a gang of slaves had overrun a soldier and were beating them to death with ramshackle weapons.
In the next moment, a giant foot crushed them as a large, monstrous lizard creature stomped over, killing both slave and soldier alike in its wake as it stormed towards the legion of War.
There were groups of soldiers fighting together to kill large abominations and swarms of other humans, and other people fighting their own solo bouts, with no side having a decisive advantage over the other since the legion's opening attack.
Damian could see it all in gruelling detail, every cut, every crushed bone, every piece of viscera sprawled out over the once pristine sands in unimaginable detail. It was a haunting sight.
Making his way to the peak of the nearby dune, he watched everything happening around him, drinking in the madness of the scene. However, as he looked, he saw one figure standing out from all the rest,
Standing on a similar dune near the centre of the formation, she seemed to be watching the battle herself, firing off arrows from time to time to strike at key enemies to allow the troops to break through the enemy formation.
Her form was unmistakable, and now that he wasn't forced behind a wall of soldiers, he could see her more clearly. Her half plate was cracked in several places, and the dark red fabric beneath had been torn away, leaving her ivory skin exposed to the desert's chilling winds.
Her hair was thick with blood and sweat, and her eyes, once filled with the same hunger as her legion, now seemed more concerned, making her appear more human.
Despite all of this, she still carried an aura of danger and a slight uncanniness that made Damian both frightened and entranced.
Her beauty was unmistakable, and as he looked over her body in strange detail, he noticed what made him so afraid of her.
That despite being a key player in this conflict, the enemy commander had yet to receive any injuries herself. Only her armour had received any damage, as if the weapons her opponents wielded held no true power over her.
The sight was as frightening as it was awe-inspiring. He had heard from listening to another soldier earlier that their goal was to try to stop the legion of War or even kill their commander within three cycles, before the Gods arrived.
But now he wasn't sure it would be possible even if they had 30 cycles. She seemed like an untouchable pillar of the legion, whilst inspiring strength in her people, whilst filling her enemies with dread. How much worse would it be when the Gods arrive?
He knew that, if they didn't stand a chance now, then they would certainly die later, it was only a matter of time. Why was she so important anyway?
Sure, she was their commander, but how did taking her out have the same effect as wiping out an entire legion? That simply didn't make sense,
He didn't know how her death would change anything in the grand scheme of this war, but he felt like he had to do something, he had a family to return to after all.
He would do anything to return to them alive, so he knew what he had to do.
He made a promise to himself that he would personally wipe out the enemy commander, no matter the cost.
He didn't know how just yet, but he felt like it was the right thing to do.
So he re-entered the fight.
No battle was as tough as his last one. He cut down numerous slaves and even a few loose beasts from time to time.
By the time a Horn blasted out from somewhere behind him, he was bloody and bruised, with his armour broken into various pieces, but he was alive,
As the sky shifted from the dark hues of night to the ever-clear blue of day, the oppressive heat settled over him as he marched back to camp, with his enemies doing the same.