[Inspired by watching Fire Emblem and Record of Lodoss Wars too much]
(Please, don't get mad at me. This story is completely ridiculous and takes place outside of the Slayers universe. I may go a bit OOC sometimes so my most sincere apologizes.)
(Some characters are VERY OOC!)
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"Sir! The right flank is collapsing! We can't hold them off! Sir! .. Sir!?-.." The messanger's shocked face crumpled beneath a spiked steel gauntlet attached to the towering man who he had just reported to.
"H-..ow, HOW!? Is this possible? They walked right into a trap.. Their largest regiment was surrounded.. There is no cha-.." The loud howls of the commander were cut short as another loud explosion erupted in the distance far to the man's right.
The commander himself seemed to be a man past his prime yet still quite an imposing figure. Wearing a full suite of plate mail minus the helmet he looked like he belonged more on the front lines than standing outside the command tent. A fact that he himself knew quite well. 'I'm getting old.. I should be out there holding the troops together..'
"Commander!" A young voice interrupted the elderly gentleman's revelrie, spitting out a throaty growl in response. "What is it NOOW /PRIVATE/!?"
"..Sir.. Sorry Sir!" The young soldier clad in the uniform green hard armor of the privates reached behind him and pulled out the flag of a messenger. "Sir.. I've been reassigned as a messenger.. The last one was killed by a stray volle-.."
"I don't care WHY you are a messenger, just give me the DAMN BLASTED BLOODY MESSAGE!"
"..Sir!..-", stuttered the private, trying to contain his fright. Realizing he better spit the message out soon. "..Commander Treslan and Lieutenant Vorks are both dead.. Sergeant Laerson is now in command and is requesting permission to return to the other side of the river and regroup.."
'Even at a time like this.. my soldiers never use the word retreat..' The commander sighed, his thoughts jumping to his memories of the dead Commander and Lieutenant; their happy times training together in the academy. "Alright, my authorization has been given. 7th Division-.." He used the word, Division, very lightly. In all reality what was left was a rag-tag unit of Paladin trainees. In all likely-hood they would never make it to the river. "..May move to the river and reform. Reinforcements will be sent to cover the rear and hold the flanks.."
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"Sir..Er..Ma'am!" The form of a brown cloaked messenger, two green flags attached to his belt appearing from the trees surrounding the camp. "..I have a new report from the front!"
"Then hurry up and report. What is the status of the Dark Knight's forces?" The General inquired, a small note of hesitation in her voice. Being the only female general in the history of the Xanc empire had it's advantages. None of the troops ever knew what to expect.. Most of them, anyways..
"Ma'am.. Sir G.. Err.. The Dark Knight led his troops directly into the trap, directly going against your orders Ma'am..-" He quickly continued as he spotted the startled look on her face. They all knew of the Dark Knight's antics. "..Then personally led a full assault minus some troops to hold the flank and rear and crushed the enemy front.. Their forces on the rear and flanks had to reinforce the line.. The enemy is nearing full retreat.."
"LEAVE! NOW! OUT OF MY PRESENCE!" 'Damn chauvanistic idiotic' General Filia fumed. 'It's just like him to walk into a trap and come out a hero.' Raising a hand to toss her hair aside, she glanced around her command tent. Picking out a comfortable seat she dropped herself into it, pouring herself some wine. The battle was already won, she need not concern herself with it any longer.
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Standing atop a hill strewn with bodies, a seemingly lone figure surveys the few remaining pockets of resistance on /his/ side of the river. Completely clad in pitch black armor with the occasional dark blue arcane engravings. Black helm atop his head, mane of white erupting from the top akin to Spartan helm. Of course, there are no, and never have been, any Spartans in this world.
A dark sword raised, held tightly in a gauntleted hand a voice fluid and beautiful echoes forth from the armor. "Arise, I command thee.. I bind thee to my will.. Arise!" Energy begins flowing forth slowly edging towards the charred battlefield below. Slowly, movement begins where there was none before, the soft almost feline voice again emitting from the dark shell. "..Living Mail.." After another moment of staring at his handy work, the figure turns in a flutter of his cape before disappearing from view entirely; fully satisfied that his creations can finish off the rag-tag resistance with ease...
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-More to come. Please send flames to Microsoft.com. C&C LUSTED after! (Yes, I dare.) Pop-tarts are to be vacuum packed and sent along with $5 American. Sorry, no C.O.Ds. ;)
X (Will)
-Wondering why he wrote this as sniffles feeling sick and cuddles up against his plushies.