[Excist]

Mandred stood staring grim-faced, his gaunt lined face and furrowed brow watching his troops advance with a fanatical obsession. His single eye twitched first left, then right, mentally tagging every notched spear and missing armband on his rag tag and under-equipped army.

Harrow-gor had said this day would come...MUST come. Have faith he told himself. They will hold. They MUST hold. There is no other way.

His eye flicked nervously up across the open field. A dozen knights stood at the ready, burnished scalemail shining almost iridescently in the sun only partially obscured by the bright logos hand-painted on the shields hinting at past glories, family properties and enterprises and even a few rare monsters from the wilds. Their warhorses were well-bred destriers obviously well-trained for the rigors of battle. These would not flinch at the smell of blood. These muscled masses of black fur and barding held these humans up to a respectable height and they weighed 3-4 times any one of his Pale Ones and probably twice as much as the Ancient Ones. Their Gauntlets held Lances of solid steel. At galloping speed those could pierce and kill on contact. Behind them stood another half dozen cavalry archers testing the wind and at least one more squire aiding each of the Knights. This could turn ugly. But it wouldn't. Harrow-gor had told him what to do. It would work. Why didn't he feel more certain?

The Knights had finished lining up and broke into a gallop readying their lances to pierce through his line of troops like the barbs from a Manticore attacking a herd of sheep.

Mandred unfolded the cloth around a shard of obsidian harvested from the Seal as his troops readied themselves in formation to receive the charge. 3 simple words: Gno'll, Ung, Thano. A dark current of liquid power ran through his veins. His troops' resolve seemed to firm. Did they feel it too? All at once the charging Heavy Cavalry came crashing into the Ancient Ones that had inexplicably strode madly forward in the last few seconds. Lances aiming for chest or gut on the large targets standing before them all struck true and with horror Mandred watched spines of metal sprout from the backs of the Ancient Ones. In the same bloody instance they bellowed as if one otherworldly beast and whipped around in rage and mindless fury pulling the few fools foolishly holding onto their lances from their saddles to be trampled by the horses behind them. Faster than his eye could track armored ragdolls were spitted on spears or grabbed from the saddle by the neck in an impromptu hanging just to be used as an improvised weapon against their brethren. They moved with a strength and precision that was previously unknown in Agartha. Their fatal wounds that should have meant certain doom were ignored in favor of killing and crushing the enemy in a primal orgy of death fueled by a power that is so new, yet, to these Agarthans was truly very, very old. 2 Knights had escaped the reach of the Ancient Ones and were just leveling their lances to charge into the weaker ranks behind them when that same power bubbled up inside Mandred once more. As instinctual as a cough or a sneeze dark power issued forth from Mandred and the air seemed to shift as if there was a shock of thunder without sound and both man and beast fell to the ground as their souls were ripped from their body. Two heart beats later the last knight stumbled down alongside his suddenly lifeless mount blank eyes staring at the sky.

Mandred looked up to see the Ancient Ones deep in both their enemies blood and their own madness forgetting everything they learned about warfare and teamwork. Horse Archers had tried to quit the field when the squires and footmen went down like a sack of flour, however, unfortunately they could not ride faster than the towering Ancient Ones' long legs could carry them.

This felt right. This felt good. This was the true path to cleansing themselves and cleansing the world in the blood of those that would resist the ascension of the True God. All that Harrow-gor had promised will come to pass.

Mandred uttered the first words since the massacre started:

Praise Harrow-gor!