The Unfated Wanderers Canto 26
The Darkling Fomenters descended from a purple sky of wrong stars and aggressively swirling clouds. They landed within the ranks of the two opposing armies. Every combatant immediately broke from their position and attempted to flee. Warriors and wizards fled in every direction from the multitudinous founts of fear that they could not see or fathom or face. Many people were trampled and crushed by panicking comrades and foes. Others slew themselves, so overwhelming was the tidal wave of fear that washed away all reason and bravery.
The Darklings briefly exulted in the bedlam that they brought before initiating their cruel work. The opposing hordes suddenly found themselves tossed into the air by unseen hands, spitted upon hidden blades and slashed by unknown edges. The Terrors waded through the field of frightened, fleeing foes and reaped their screaming harvest. Hundreds of souls were consumed by Darkling knives and fed to the Lord of Terror. Mere minutes later, the cacophony ended. The shrieking voices were choked by death. Aside from the lucky few that escaped, two armies had perished. Silence once again rippled across the plateau.
The triumphant Darklings observed the slaughtered soldiers strewn at their feet and they cheered joyfully. They spread their wings, gusts of air pushed by smoky appendages and they were flying, soaring to all of the places of Linomnount, near and far, populous and barren, bright and airy, foul and dark. The Darkling Fomenters journeyed to further their grim work: mass slaughter and chaos to bring the People low, to weaken their resolve, to decimate their civilization.
Once again, the People had brought the Living World to the precipice of cataclysmic catastrophe through their misuse of life and magic.
Once again, the Children of the Gods activated the most powerful tool of the World Machinery…
Apocalypse.