absolutely epic deserving of a nobel prize truly an epic thriller to define the times

Mine is better.

...

The benevolent sun sank below the horizon as twilight came,

Its dying amber rays illuminating a canyon, with cliffs of

Sharp crags to define its sides. Mighty mountains were these,

Impossible to scale or pass, except by the road through the valley.

This narrow breach was blocked, however, by an impregnable

Fortress, a wall of stone harder than steel, with huge doors of oak and

A wrought-iron portcullis to defend its single entryway.

This castle blockade was The Gauntlet, and it had never

Been taken, nor had its single wall been broken

Since its creation. It was a solid giant of man’s forging, with the purpose

Of keeping out those sinister and hostile forces, the warriors of a thousand years past;

The armies of the undying. Rallied into service by dark sorcerers,

These grim reincarnations existed for only the purpose of war

And bringing suffering and pain to those who yet lived in full.

Of late, strength had been gathering in the lands claimed by the

Forces of death; For a new leader, he who was most powerful of all Necromancers,

Scallow of Uthras, Scythe-Wielder, had taken control. He used his unrivalled prowess in

Dark magic to confer with the Greater Dead,

Gods of the underworld, even bartering with

Xethrinn the All-Powerful, King of Death, and from this forbidden conference

Gained a force of undead warriors the scale of which had never appeared before.

It was this army which was now marching through the narrow canyon

Towards the Gauntlet. Hundreds of thousands of skinless, rotting feet trod

In unnatural unison, a marching horde of the dead bent upon breaking the great barrier.

Rusting armor and wicked blades clanged and rattled as Scallow’s troops moved

Their muscles and skin and tendons all greyed in death, ravaged organs clinging and hanging

From cracked, moldy bones. Upon sharp, tall pikes within the mass fluttered

Black banners, emblazoned with the emblem of a white skeletal hand, the seal of Scallow of Uthras.

But it was behind the legions of infantry that true beasts of war stood.

Gigantic, heavy war-machines had been built for this assault, wooden menaces

Which cast long shadows in the dying sun’s radiance. The huge weapons included

Trebuchets loaded with boulders the size of cattle,

Mortars with powerful metal shots,

Repeating guns which spewed forth fire from inside armored wagons,

Giant crossbows with arrows the size of spears,

Tall siege towers and ladders, and chariots pulled by half-eroded horses,

Equipped with rotating bronze axes which chopped and spun as the wheels rolled.

Above all the land-locked equipment swooped gliders,

The bat-like wings of which beat up and down

In a frenzied struggle to remain airborne. They were laden with incendiaries and bombs

Designated to tear the Gauntlet apart.

Upon the parapets of the Gauntlet, high above these amassed armies of evil,

Stood Charon, the elderly conjurer, his raven hair and silver mantle caught in the chill breeze.

Charon was first of the land’s wizards to become aware of Scallow’s lust for power

And of the creation of his armies.

The raven-haired Wizard was quick to alert the kings and rulers of the lands,

Who, upon realizing the threat that the scythe-wielder and his armies posed, had created

An alliance of three races, those of dwarves, the skilled engineers and miners,

Of the lithe and skilled elves, masters of magic and archery,

And of men, the populous and militaristic race of ambition.

The side of life had, upon the founding of its unity, began to produce

War-weapons and fortresses of their own. Charon devised a certain potion from

His tower laboratory, An acid, which, when it came into contact

With those who were dead, would melt and corrode their bodies,

Leaving only spirits which were free to return to quiet death and to rest in peace.

Dwarvish inventors took this acid, and created a special bolt

which contained it until impact, whereupon

The magical compound would splatter over whatever object had shattered its vial.

Armed with these special projectiles, the rapid-fire guns commissioned

By the men-kings were customized for compatibility, and

Would prove to be devastating against any warrior of the dead.

Charon stood on the battlements close to one of these aptly named “Deadkiller Guns” which was mounted on the wall.

He stared down with hard eyes into the sea of troops and siege engines

The first line of which had halted perhaps five-score feet from the base of the wall.

“Why have they stopped, sir?” A voice asked from behind Charon. The raven-haired wizard turned,

To find himself facing his apprentice, Orion,

A youthful elf of prodigal magical potential, who Charon had taken on

As an apprentice, to hone and refine the growing creature’s gifts.

The raven-haired wizard gave reply to his pupil, voice contemplative.

“I know not, Orion. Perhaps the armies of Death

Await a signal or a command to commence in their attack.

For, you do know, as I have taught you, that reincarnated servants

Do not operate without the command of a master.

However, this falls into question;

We have not seen Scallow of Uthras commanding in person at a battle

For some time. I know only of one other way he could give orders

To his soldiers; if one of the Gods of the Dead had sent him a very rare

And very dangerous form of aid.

If Scallow has the Men Who Are Not Men under his command,

If his ranks include those most grievous of undead demons,

The Wraithra, then all is explained.

As is doom spelled out for each and every one of us.”

Just as the wise wizard finished speaking, there was a visible stirring of the mindless dead below.

The hordes parted, forming an aisle down their middle.

What rode through that passageway confirmed their worst fears.

A figure, roughly humanoid, composed entirely of shadows,

Which seemed to form a cloak of darkness about its body,

Rode at a canter through the parted ranks of warriors below upon a skeletal black steed.

Where its head should have been, there was naught but void, upon which sat

An ornate, wicked-looking open-faced helm, with spikes arranged around the top

Forming a crown. For this was indeed a prince, one of the princes of darkness,

A Wraithra.

When the Man Who Was Not A Man reached the wall of the Gauntlet, it reached inside its

Cloak of deepest shadow, and from the billowing, gaseous folds, pulled a blade

An alien blade, forged of some unearthly substance, a transparent, green sword

That glowed and shone with an unholy corpse-light.

The Wraithra let loose an ear-piercing shriek, part war-cry, part laugh,

And thrust its strange, deadly weapon into the air

Upon which both the dark sword and dark being exploded into verdant fire,

Tendrils of supernatural flame licking in and out of the sinister helm.

The thousands of fallen warriors before it followed this example,

Jeering, shouting, and groaning, they rose their own rusted weapons

Creating a horrifying racket

Sending fear to the hearts of every man, elf and dwarf

Atop the wall of the impregnable Gauntlet.

Orion swore beneath his breath, and Charon mumbled

An ancient protective spell, hoping to ward off some of the evil of the Wraithra.

In the same moment, the Man Who Was Not A Man turned his steed

To face the fortress before it, and brought its alien weapon

Down, describing a large arc, and giving the order to its army

To commence in the attack.

With a whoosh, the trebuchets’ long arms swung up, their counterweights dropped,

Slinging their boulders at the Gauntlet’s high wall with massive strength.

The first rock to hit took with it a fair chunk of masonry, to be sure,

But the wall held firm and strong. More projectiles from the mortars and catapults

Had similarly little effect, merely denting the impregnable fortress.

But the barrage was steady, and it was clear to those assembled

That after a time, even if a long time,

The wall could perhaps fall.

At another point on the wall, close to where the raven-haired Charon stood,

One of the tall siege towers rolled on studded wheels towards its destination,

Pushed by hundreds of the dead, intended to gain the attacking army access to the parapets.

As Charon looked on, Orion behind him sprang into the control seat

Of the mounted Deadkiller Gun. The young elf stared intently through the crosshairs, targeting

Those of Scallow’s troops who were moving the lofty wooden machine far below.

Then he turned the operation crank.

With a roaring sound, the weapon began to discharge its

Acid-filled projectiles, the gravity-reloading magazine rhythmically falling as shots flew forth into the

Mass of warriors moving the siege tower with a stunning efficiency and speed.

Deadkiller arrows peppered the horde heavily

Upon striking a target, their glass chambers shattered

Releasing the potent substance held there with a splatter. Wherever the clear acid

Made contact with a being of death, it sizzled and burned, corroding

And melting away bone, rotted skin, and shredded muscle, until nothing remained of the

Summoned spirit’s body.

It was in this manner that Orion banished a large portion of the siege tower’s pushers.

But as one dead soldier fell, another replaced him,

So numerous were they. Soon, the elf had run out of ammunition, and was unable to further prevent the tower from approaching. It got within ten feet of the Gauntlet’s huge wall, but then,

Seemingly from nowhere,

A bundle of dynamite, fuse lit, sailed through

The air, landing on the top of the wooden tower’s archer platform.

With a bang, the grenade combusted, blasting a fist of flame

Into the air. The tower’s top exploded apart, splintered wood and warped metal flying in every direction.

Charon and Orion both turned back to see from where this aid had come, and their eyes

Were met with the sight of the human engineer Derringer, a bandolier draped

Over his grease-stained apron and armor. From it dangled more dynamite, engineer’s tools, and a Shining sword. Atop his head sat a battered leather helmet, and a pair of welding goggles.

Derringer smiled cockily at his two allies, and spoke with a similar attitude.

“It’s a good thing I came when I did,

That tower was awful close. I daresay you two

Would not have fared nearly so well

Had my devices not been there to solve the problem.”

Neither the young elf nor elderly conjurer had any time to reply, however,

For above their heads in that moment the enemy’s gliders soared

Bat-like wings fluttering and beating to keep the vehicles airborne.

A trio of these mechanical birds it was, that flew above the top of the Gauntlet’s high battlements

And, upon reaching the part of parapet

Which had been constantly battered down by the

Trebuchets and cannon of Scallow’s forces, dropped their loads.

The gliders let go the bombs they had been carrying

And then it was that all chaos broke loose.

The bricks of the Gauntlet’s wall, before so adamant and solid

Crumbled and broke when the bombs exploded, sending huge chunks of masonry

Falling down to the ground, crushing hundreds of the dead who were close to the wall

Under an avalanche of stone.

Once the formerly proud structure had finished with its dying throes,

And the dust had cleared, there was left a rent in the previously impenetrable barrier that

The Gauntlet had been.

With a great and terrible cheer, the mass of deathly soldiers outside of the Gauntlet swarmed

Towards the newly-created breach, a mass of movement so vast that it appeared an ocean.

But they were met by a line of men with large shields, and with axe-wielding dwarves

A formidable melee force, which easily defended the narrow rift

And cut and slashed and stabbed at the oncoming sea of skeletons.

Elvish archers stood atop the wall on either side of the breach, and skillfully fired

Arrow after arrow into the fray.

The side of life held its ground even against their numerical disadvantage

For a time. But the tilting of favor changed

When, galloping agilely through the swarm of dead on its bony steed

Rode the nightmarish Wraithra, corpse-blade raised

And whole form covered in dancing green fire.

Time seemed to slow

As the demon flew forward, evil radiating from it as its stallion carried it towards the small force

Of living beings who had held off Scallow’s armies.

Directing one shadowy hand at the wall of Dwarves and Men, the Man Who Was Not A Man

Spurted forth a long tendril of sickly flame from its palm.

With the chain of glowing fire, the Wraithra targeted one of the strongest-looking men in the crowd

And threw its energy at that man, using the green flame to lift him off the ground.

The man screamed as his attacker lazily flicked its wrist back, directing with it

The string of fire, and flinging the man hundreds of feet into the air, sending him

Sailing backward into the army of corpses behind, whereupon he was devoured.

Charon, Orion, and Derringer

Watched this spectacle in horror. The Wraithra mercilessly killed several more

Using its sword, the ominous blade shrieking through the air as it took life after life.

Orion started forward in anger, his crossbow primed, but Charon held him

From dashing down into the battle below. The Raven-Haired wizard chided his apprentice.

“Orion, patience! Your crossbow stands no chance

In the face of a Wraithra. No mortal weapon, in fact

Can defeat it; were you to try, it would be suicidal.

No, the only method possible to destroy one of them

Would be by using magic, and no mean magic at that.

Tell me, apprentice, have you still that azure crystal

Which I gave you in the beginning? Remember,

I said, ‘Keep this crystal well, Orion, for you may well need it.’

Yes, now you recall! Fetch me this crystal, boy

For it is a very powerful magical object; its natural substance is

Most abhorrent to the dead, and, if I remember correctly, to

Wraithra as well. “

Orion silently rifled through his bag, searching it for the blue stone Charon had given him.

Upon finding it, the prodigious elf handed the crystal

A stone no bigger than his palm, and unrefined

To Charon. The wizard then fixed this small but powerful item

Atop his oaken staff, then wordlessly motioning for his two comrades to follow him down to the breach.

By the time the trio of heroes had reached the area of conflict,

Their archenemy had already slain almost the entirety of troops who had blocked the

Wall-breach. Only enough yet survived to desperately pen in the eager tide

Of undead. Orion leapt like a deer onto the slanting side of the broken wall,

Crouched there, and let fly a quiver-full of arrows from his crossbow,

Felling a fair number of his adversaries. Derringer joined the thinning line of

Defenders, using his shining blade to parry and hold back Scallow’s armies.

Charon targeted the Wraithra, his staff emitting bursts of bright light from its knobbed end,

The flashes of magical energy magnetically drawn to the demon.

However, each one of the raven-haired wizard’s assaults was in turn devoured by

The dancing green flame which engulfed the Man Who Was Not A Man.

But when the elderly conjurer swung his staff, crystal-embedded end forward, at his foe

Its skeletal mount reared backward in fear and alarm as the blue stone

Came close, its internal phosphorescence glowing brighter as it swooshed past.

The Wraithra shrieked in shock, pain, and fury, and swung its verdant, wicked sword

Down at Charon’s staff, severing the thick wood shortly below where the crystal was affixed

Cleaving it entirely with a single strike.

The enchanted rock fell to the ground with a dull thud.

Orion watched from his perch on the crumbled bricks of the huge wall as

His mentor’s long staff was severed and its effective tip was lost.

The nimble elf sprang from his perch and down towards the place where it had fallen,

Landing on a number of the dead as he made it to earth.

The prodigious apprentice quickly stood, and pushed aside

Those in his path as he made his way towards the crystal’s place in the dirt,

About which the Man Who Was Not A Man’s steed tread nervously.

Orion wasted no time in making his move.

He darted forward, and quickly snatched the powerful blue stone,

Only barely avoiding the dark stamping hooves of

The bony black horse as he slid on the ground head-first, crystal clutched in his outstretched hands.

Orion heard flame crackle behind him as the Wraithra’s hand

Sprung into animated green fire, and it launched a ball of the otherworldly energy.

But its projectile never reached its intended target. An invisible shield, created by Charon,

Now stood between Orion and his enemy; the orb of flame dissipated

With a hiss as it met the force-field.

The Wraithra turned to the aging wizard with another wrathful, spine-tingling cry,

And directed its streaming attack at him instead.

It was now that Orion saw his chance. He took the blue crystal in his hand, and

Threw it at the shadowy form of the Man Who Was Not A Man. The little chunk of stone shed its light

Brighter and brighter as it came closer to the Wraithra, and beaming a finalistic halo of azure

When it collided with the shadow-formed and cloaked figure.

A sound that could by no reasoning could ever be defined as earthly

Left the Wraithra as the crystal hit and stuck onto its body. Desperately,

The dark demon tried to claw and burn the stone off of its chest, but could not;

For the magical little rock had begun to work its power. The previously

Human-shaped body of solid shadow seemed to melt

And liquefy, turning more vapory and insubstantial as the crystal sucked in its

Dark material and green flame. There was soon but a small cloud of

Wispy remnants, but they vanished quickly.

Only the entity’s sinister helm, alien blade, and the stone which had consumed it remained,

All three of which fell into the dust as one.

The Man Who Was Not A Man was no more.

…

The benevolent sun sank below the horizon as twilight came,

Its dying amber rays illuminating a canyon, with cliffs of

Sharp crags to define its sides. Mighty mountains were these,

Impossible to scale or pass, except by the road through the valley.

This narrow breach was once blocked by an impregnable

Fortress, a wall of stone harder than steel, with huge doors of oak and

A wrought-iron portcullis to defend its single entryway.

This castle blockade had been The Gauntlet, and it had only once

Been taken since its creation. But that once was enough.

...

*sobs*