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The sun climbed into the sky as the two armies positioned themselves for a final confrontation, climbing slowly over the course of three hours - until at last they were ready…poised on the brink of battle. The Damned were formed before their demonic allies, ready to fling spell after spell at their enemies, but as soon as fighting turned into hand to hand, they would retreat behind their demon foot soldiers. The glowing glimmers of the orb's rays glanced off sword and shield, armour and warrior as it lit the way for the carnage to come. Ulthring stood to the side of the Lord of Chaos; they both presented a frightening image to the army of the League…the mage dressed in full armour, stained as crimson as blood. In his hand rested the Sword of Lies, that blade which Chaos had gifted him with…the madman's eyes gleamed as he waited for the signal. Then there was the ebony hued figure of the Lord of Chaos; he stood over twelve feet tall and seemed to be made out of the shadows…appearing as a naked, hairless human - unarmed but terrifying to look upon, even from the other side of the battlefield.

Against this oppressive horde of terror stood the League of Seven, patiently waiting for the order to advance…their armour gleamed in the light, their weapons were ready - they would win or they would die trying. No quarter would be asked and none would be given. The humans, orcs and dwarves were a block of heavy infantry in the centre - the imps, elves and lizards were the faster light infantry on either flank. Battlemages interspersed the ranks, ready to throw warspells and support their comrades - Archers of all the races formed the back row of the infantry block, ready to fall back and send hails of arrows into the foe. Then there was the League cavalry, composed of every race once again, they were before the infantry and held the banners - horses stamping their hooves, snorting the air and showing signs of impatience.

Ruben Ferol and the other League leaders were mounted to the side of the main force, a little way off - they had their own small force of two hundred elite horsemen, formed into a neat wedge. They could all hear the derisive voice of the Chaos Lord as he urged them to flee the battle, to run before it was too late…how they would all fall, fail and die trying. But these were not recruits, they were well trained fighting men who sat on their mounts, unmoved by the sound of that dark voice…while their horses' ears flickered nervously, the men calmed their beasts and began to chant a low droning chant - that even the men in the rank behind could not hear, it was spoken in unison.

Ralph, the young apprentice of Ferol's gave the order to advance, which was signalled by the trumpeter who blew a loud and clear wailing note into the air. The League cavalry broke from the group and thundered towards the dark army - behind them quick marched the infantry; their shields were raised to fend off any long range enchantments that were flung towards them. As spells flew, the Damned had great difficulty in targeting their magics against the galloping horsemen, but even so, enough magic found its mark to break the cavalry's charge and down a third of their horsemen before they could even get close to the wizards.

The League infantry opened their ranks to allow the now fleeing cavalry through and to the rear, rushing onwards so fast that the Damned mages did not pause to loose another deadly barrage, they turned and melted quickly behind the ranks of their demon allies flanks. Not wanting to wait that long, the Chaos Lord bellowed and the demon soldiers charged forwards to meet the League with a howling, screaming yell. The two armies clashed on foot and while they battled furiously Battlemages and Damned cast spell after spell, arrows were volleyed from both sides over the heads of their comrades and sank with bloody finality into the bodies of their foes. Fighters of both sides fell in scores; blood slicked the field and mixed with the ichors of the foul and their allies…it was obvious from this battle that the League were being cut down like wheat while the Damned suffered minor losses.

The dwarven, orc and human warriors in the very middle were slowly falling or being pushed back by the onslaught of mad Ulthring and the Lord of Chaos, they left a mound of the dead or dying in their wake, as the two pressed on their advantage a League trumpet blew a forlorn note in the battle and the middle section of the heavy infantry turned as one, and fled at full speed. Sensing he had already won the mad Ulthring followed the Chaos Lord's charge as they pursued the fleeing warriors like cats hunting mice. At this moment, the carefully timed trap was closed with a grim smile from those who had played the game till this point…they had lost much, but hope soared as they beheld their elite warriors from either flank suddenly close in behind the two leaders and block their demonic allies and wizards from following their masters.

Suddenly it seemed that the fleeing troops were making a carefully choreographed and orderly withdrawal and not a bloody, scared rout at all. This was further clarified by the action of opening their formation to let the League leaders and their galloping, thundering horses through, supporting the wedge of two hundred which bore right towards the Damned's leaders at a great pace. The Chaos Lord simply roared in delight, he knew in his foul heart that this was no match for he and the wizard at his side - so he let them come knowing that they would be crushed under his ebony feet. Then his demons would tear the thin line between him and it would be all over in a second. His eyes burned ferally…

Ralph, Ferol's apprentice, chose that moment to break the powerful invisibility magic that had kept him hidden for the time and took aim with his longbow at the wizard Ulthring…the arrow shot from the bow and time seemed to condense down into a single brief moment, the arrow pierced the wizard's left eye and the shot was so fierce that it split the eyeball and ploughed right through the back of the mage's helmet - appearing in a gore soaked tide of red. Chaos had no time to react to the attack on his now screaming unnatural ally…for the leaders of the League were almost upon him, and as the two hundred cavalry rode past to close ranks against the demons behind him Go-Dar and Ulf Twohuts drove lances into the dark creatures body, he gave them a bellow of contempt and reached out with his powerful hands, snapping the lances like rotten wood - then he closed those same hands about their necks, plucking them off their mounts like cherries…there was the sickening sound of cracking bone and both were tossed to the floor…lifeless.

Jemthorn of the elves slammed his waraxe into Chaos' skull and it connected with a bone-jarring crunch, without seeming to be harmed the black shape tore the elf's arm clean out of his socket in a spray of gouting blood. Carnage was the master of this battle as Zakx fell to the Chaos Lord's black finger, driven into his skull like a twisted dagger…he staggered backwards and fell to the ground. Duke Dylan Ferol leapt from his horse and tried to wrestle with Chaos, who grabbed the man held both his arms, tilted his own head to the side then slammed him into the ground - breaking his back, rolling him over and crushing his chest like he was treading on a pair of well used bellows…he died spitting blood.

As she saw this, Grondtha of the lizard folk tried to come to the Duke's aid but she perished as Chaos raked her with a terrible kick as he turned around. Her hands went to her gut and she tried to staunch the flow of blood and bile as she fell next to the pale, bloodless corpse of Jemthorn of the elves. In dying, the leaders of the League had not given Chaos the satisfaction of one single scream of pain.

As he watched this Ruben Ferol shook his head sadly and gritted his teeth, he saw the demon king rip Jemthorn's axe from his head and take up a defensive posture. Ferol rode towards him and at the last moment, he simply dropped his guard and swung down off his horse, which skittered slightly in the presence of this being. As he strode towards the Chaos Lord the mage began to laugh, it was a hollow, derisive laugh…he stood before the demon and raised his eyes defiantly. Needing no time to react the Chaos Lord spread his fingers and drove his black hand deep into Ferol's chest, the man bucked and gritted his teeth as he felt his body shake and his eyes dim slowly…his blood rushed past him onto the gore soaked ground, but all he gave the demon king was a grim smile - then he died.

As Chaos withdrew his hand and the body slumped to the ground, the blood that had been shed intermingled together and a great ball of white light burst forth, scorching his eyes and obliterating the demons that had broken free to protect their master. Black shapes were torn into the air and thrown backwards violently by this magical blast…the spell that the leaders of the League had all cast now shone forth like a beacon of hope across this violent confrontation, picking Chaos into the air, the power of their lives wrought into a sacrificial magic that now twisted the demon king through all four dimensions…and in a screaming rage of pain and torment - he was thrown back to hell with a cloud of dark smoke and falling ash; he vanished with the sound of a thunderclap.

A little way off, Ralph, battle-weary and bloody now stood over the form of mad Ulthring, the mage was still alive, and the apprentice could scarce believe his eyes. So he reached down to seize the closest weapon to him - the Sword of Lies. The mad wizard screamed and writhed, then he was still as the apprentice drove the point of the sword down and through his throat…the scream trailed off into a gurgle as small rivers of crimson ran down the sides of his neck and onto the floor…his one good eye closed forever. As he ripped the sword from Ulthring's throat he held it aloft, blood still slicking the blade and the demon army routed and broke at the sight of both of their leaders gone. The races of the League of Seven closed about them and cut them down like so much chaff. It was not long before the only moving things upon the battlefield were the carrion come to feast on the dead…as pennants idly flapped, torn and blood soaked - an ominous stillness lingered briefly. In the League's camp the mood was that of elation and joy as those that remained grabbed what weapons they could, determined not to let a single demon or mage leave the field of battle alive and flee into the unknown. Yet the wind idly toyed with the tent flap of Ruben Ferol's tent, flickering the corners of a parchment that lay on his wooden table…not the last will and testament of a doomed man, but a prophetic warning…words of a dream - three days before he sacrificed his own life to save many.

Three elements are required to become the true Divine One: Summoning, Blessing and Sacrifice.

The Divine One will have a Protector who will guide him.

The Divine One will walk upon the paths of the Dead.

The Divine One will see visions sent from the Land of Death.

The Divine One has the Power to save or destroy the world.

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