A Kingdom to Defend - Part 1

'My prince,' the scout announced, leaping from his horse and onto his knee, 'I mean, my king.' The man's voice quivered, his mind searching for the right words to use, 'the enemy forces gather at the forests' edge. They will be within sight in a few moments.'
The man he addressed stared ahead at the horizon, dwindling sunlight ushering in the darkness of night. The smell of carrion had filled the air and every breath was made in disgust. The scout had only reported what Mortred already knew; death had come for them all. He shifted in his saddle and his hand brushed over his sword hilt, a comforting feeling in a time of unease. He looked around him to his generals and men, all seasoned veterans with years of battle experience, looking to him for his commands. The weight of it all was heavy on his shoulders, especially that of the crown that had been dropped on him so recently.
Banners fluttered around him, bearing sigils and icons of families great and old. They would fight for him valorously, that he knew in his heart. From the most prestigious knight to the most common of soldiers, they knew well that Mortred was a great leader of men even before being crowned king. They would all fight to the end for him and die for him because they knew he would also be fighting alongside them, not one to shy away from combat to let his followers suffer the brunt of armed conflict. Their loyalty was his greatest asset and he knew it would be unwavering, but despite the iron wills of these warriors and the fierce loyalty they hold to their king and country, a chill ran through them all. A sensation of dread that was palpable in the air as much as the cool dusk.
Merely as shadows in the underbrush at first, the enemy forces came into view. Their movements were far less organised and much more disjointed. They moved in huddled masses, shambling forwards rather than marching. The stench of decay grew stronger with their approach until their eyes could be seen through the encroaching darkness. Eyes bloodshot red with an unholy glow to match, corpse-flesh stretched taut over their faces or barely at all. Barely clothed in their former uniform, these monstrous abominations approached with blood and gore still slick in their gaping mouths.
Mortred searched among the horde of fiends, not sure of what he would expect to find. It would pain him to see anyone he might remember. Even the most experienced of his generals were aghast at the sight. To face death was natural for any soldier, but to face undeath was a fear that no one knew how to cope with. He shouted out his orders and rallied his men; this fight would determine the fate of everyone in his kingdom and there was no room for failure. This threat had been growing and had taken far too much from them. He lowered the face of his helmet and whispered to himself, 'I'll avenge you father.'
Nodding to his generals, they signalled for the first volley. Arcane bolts of energy streaked through the fields, setting the grass alight with magical fires red, green and blue. Explosions erupted as these hammers of magical power met with their targets, sending pieces of flesh and sinew splattering over their ghoulish comrades. Arrows and bolts launched forth, their razor sharp tips sinking into pallid flesh of the undead horrors. Few of them fell to the shots though, as their long dead bodies were immune to any sublethal force.
The horns of war bellowed out their summons, units of men moved in precision timing. At the sound of battle, the ghouls and beasts began to run at top speed, slathering at the mouth with voracity. Mortred could hear screams as the quickest of the monsters slam themselves into his army's battle lines. Unheeded by shield and blade and giving no caution for their own safety, these unholy creatures throw themselves into a frenzy, slaughtering everything in their path until they themselves are killed. Soldiers held the line as best they could but would be quickly overwhelmed by the vast numbers. They came in droves, as if borne from the darkness itself.
Mortred signalled for the cavalry to move forwards, they would hammer into these monstrosities and cut a swathe of destruction through their disorganised ranks. Hooves thundered as his knights barrelled through the battlefield, a dust storm trailing in their wake. Wedges formed and lances couched as they closed in. Blades were drawn from their sheaths, their edges keen to bite through the putrid flesh of the undead zombie hordes. Perfectly synced with their charge, flares lit up in the sky, bathing the battle field in a warm glow and shedding light upon the beasts of darkness.
The knights sliced through the rampaging horde of fiends, their speed and deadly precision cutting through dozens and maybe even hundreds of the creatures with a single passing. The foot-soldiers cheered and banged their shields as they push back the ravenous beasts and surge forwards with the momentum. By the hundreds these walking corpses fell, stomped into the ground by the forward march of soldiers.
Mortred lead his forces around for another sweep to crush another flank of ghouls, but a deathly howl froze all the horses, causing them all to whinny in protest to their rider. Against the bright flares in the sky, a blood moon could be seen peering through the dark clouds and soon the lit skies are darkened by demonic wings.
Crashing down on the infantry, winged monsters slashed through armour and shields, flaying men where they stood. Halberds and spears pierced at these new threats, but they shrugged them off like thorns from a vine. Mortred rallied his cavalry to rescue his soldiers. No beasts could withstand the heavy steel tipped lances of a hundred knights. The heavy horse cavalry slammed into these creatures, half a dozen lances impaling into each before dragging their winged corpses away in the momentum of the charge.
The battle raged on as the cavalry charge was eventually bogged down in the thick of the battle. Lances gave way to heavy blades, cutting and thrusting at the enemy at every direction. Foot soldiers continued their march, shield meeting claw and spears stabbing through bare flesh. Mortred could observe from atop his horse that the battle was going well and though the enemy was relentless, his army was superior in arms and tactics. He held up his sword, shouting out a rallying cry to his men who echoed theirs back to him.

Then the howling returned.

This time louder, the sound prickled at every hair on his neck. A shadow loomed that seemed to block out the eerie red glow of the blood moon. A dragon of bone and decayed flesh swooped down. Its blackened wings threw riders off their horses and flung infantry to the ground. Sitting astride this behemoth clad in night-black armour was a figure that gave a smoking aura of undeathly evil. With a flick of his wrist and the uttering of an incantation, dozens of the slain corpses reanimated once more, sinking their claws and fangs into the unsuspecting foot-soldiers. The dead had risen once again and in an instant the tide of battle had changed.
The dragon spat out a gout of purple flames, stripping the flesh off of many knights and warriors. Mortred looked on in desperation as his men fought valiantly against the unending tide of necrotic flesh. Giving no thought to his own safety he ordered his warhorse into a full charge at the blood-knight warlord, screaming out a challenge as he closed the distance. His blade hummed with fury and a clap of thunder booming overhead as a storm came close.
The blood knight leapt off of his dragon mount, who immediately rushed towards the nearest knight to devour it whole. The unholy warrior took off his helmet and gave a fanged smile as Mortred blazed forwards. The most vibrant crimson eyes were a stark contrast to his pitch-black armour. Dried blood caked around his mouth from his last meal and he laughed out loud at the challenge. He stood at least two feet taller than when he was alive and bore a sword of equal stature. Bathed in malevolent energy, this two handed blade would take three mortals to carry, yet he swung it with unnatural grace and ease single-handedly; such was the power of the blood-knight vampires.
Mortred threw his shield down and reached for his spear, throwing it with all his might at the fiend. The silvered tip pierced through the ornate armour of the shocked blood-knight, sending him stumbling backwards. Spurring his steed faster, Mortred closed the gap and brought his shining blade down onto the vampire.
A loud ringing could be heard as the blade sliced through armour, flesh, and bone. Blood sprayed through the air and covered both fighters. Mortred's arm reverberated with the shock of his strike. His blade caught onto the groove the gothic breastplate, wedged deep but without yield. His horse had been decapitated by a single stroke and now he fell to the ground in a tumble. The blood knight looked down at him, tugging the spear free from his chest with a grunt of pain.
Dazed, Mortred reached for his sword, only to have his shoulder pierced and pinned to the ground by the gigantic blade of the blood-knight. He screamed in pain as the sword began to siphon away his very life force. Towering over him the vampire looked down with the most chilling of eyes. Freeing his blade, he lifted Mortred's weakened body into the air, letting him see the horrors of the battle. All around him, his men were being torn apart by the relentless onslaught of the undead army. Ghoulish beings in his colours feasted upon flesh mindlessly with each victim they fell, a former brother-in-arms.
'A disappointing end, for a disappointing prince,' the vampire mocked, his face giving a disapproving look. Blood poured from Mortred's wounds and he could feel himself dying. His army was scattered and soon this plague of undead would tear through his kingdom, consuming everything in their path. He closed his eyes at the first drops of rain. The last sound he heard in his mortal life was the rumble of thunder overhead.