The War March Begins

“My lord, the Guardsmen are prepared to move out.”

Emo stood near the front of the village path with his right hand clenched over his chest. Behind him, ninety armed Kreegans waited in two uneven ranks, their armor still crude but serviceable. Two supply wagons sat loaded behind them, their wooden frames heavy with provisions, tools, spare hides, and bundles of sharpened spears.

“We have two supply wagons stocked for the journey,” Emo continued. “Would you like to ride on one? We can arrange a chair.”

Diyu looked past him toward the road north.

“No. I will walk at the front. You will bring up the rear. If anyone falls out of formation or attempts to flee, get them back in line.”

“As you command, my lord.”

Diyu moved toward the head of the formation, studying the Guardsmen as he passed. Some stood with pride. Others kept their eyes low. A few clutched their spears with white-knuckled uncertainty, still looking more like hunters pretending at war than soldiers ready to conquer a capital. They were afraid. He could smell it beneath the sweat, leather, and coal smoke.

Fear did not disappoint him. Fear could be used.

When Diyu reached the front, he turned to face them. His metallic body caught the morning light, dark plates gleaming like forged storm clouds. Every Kreegan in the formation looked at him, and even those who feared him seemed unable to look away.

“Though some of you stand here with uncertainty and fear,” Diyu said, “hesitant to fight, hesitant to leave the only home you have ever known, understand this: following me means more than following a hunter.”

His voice carried across the village.

“I have been chosen to lead our people to salvation. I have been chosen to remove every obstacle in our path. Ahead of us waits a march of nearly four hundred miles. Our destination is the Anoxe capital, Noxeer. I know most of you have never seen such a place. Some of you had never even heard of it before I revealed the map. But mark my words. When we arrive, I will show them what I have already shown you.”

He stepped forward, letting the silence tighten.

“I am the only one strong enough to lead.”

A few of the men answered with a roar. Others joined a moment later, less certain but unwilling to remain silent while their brothers shouted. Diyu watched them carefully. Emo had been right. Some of them truly believed. Others only followed because fear had given them knees.

Diyu needed all of them to have faith.

“On your command, my lord,” Emo shouted from the rear.

Diyu turned toward the road.

“March.”

The wagon wheels creaked into motion, and the Guardsmen stepped forward. At first, the rhythm was clumsy. Armor knocked against wood. Spears shifted from shoulder to shoulder. Boots dragged through dirt as men struggled to find a shared pace. But slowly, the formation settled into movement, and the village began to fall behind them.

The journey ahead would be the hardest any of them had ever made. They would travel northwest through the broad plains of Anoxe land until they reached the coastline. From there, they would follow the Eastern Sea north, then west along the shore until the walls of Noxeer came into view. A small group of hunters could make such a journey faster, but with wagons, armor, and ninety men unused to long military movement, Diyu estimated sixteen days.

Their rations would carry them to the capital’s doorstep if nothing went wrong.

Diyu knew better than to trust that.

Once they reached the coastline, hunting and fishing parties would gather more food. At least, that had been the plan. But the dying land had already begun stealing certainty from every plan he made.

“My lord?”

The voice came from behind him, hesitant but eager.

Diyu glanced over his shoulder. “Speak.”

A young Guardsman marched a few paces behind him. He was tall, though not yet fully grown, standing close to seven feet. Small tusks still protruded from his lower jaw, marking him as young enough that adulthood had not fully claimed his face. Still, he carried his spear well, and there was a restless energy in his eyes.

“Is it true?” the young Kreegan asked. “That you no longer eat or drink? That you have the strength of ten Kreegans?”

Diyu studied him for a moment.

“It is true that I no longer hunger or thirst as you do,” Diyu said. “As for my strength, you will witness it when we reach the capital. Then you may spread the tale yourself.”

The young Guardsman’s eyes brightened.

“I knew it,” he said. “You truly are here to lead our people away from this dying planet.”

Diyu looked forward again, but the youth continued.

“My lord, how much time do we have left?”

“Less than a century,” Diyu replied. “Less than a century to unite every clan, gather what we need, and escape before Hadawon becomes uninhabitable. Do you understand what that means? Not enough food. Not enough drinkable water. No mercy from the ground beneath your feet or the sun above your head.”

The young Kreegan grew quiet for a moment.

“It is a shame, my lord,” he said. “This home holds so much meaning for our people, and yet—”

Diyu stopped walking.

The formation behind him slowed.

“What is your name, Guardsman?” Diyu asked.

The youth straightened. “Varok, my lord.”

“Varok,” Diyu said, turning fully toward him, “if you wish to survive, remember this: we are not bound to this forsaken rock. Our mission is not to mourn it. Our mission is to escape it.”

Varok lowered his eyes. “Yes, my lord.”

Diyu resumed walking.

Behind him, Varok fell silent. The young Guardsman felt the sting of rejection more deeply than he wanted to show. He had meant to honor the world, not question Diyu’s purpose. Still, the correction burned. His eyes flicked briefly toward the rear of the formation, where Emo marched with the confidence of one who already had Diyu’s trust.

One day, Varok thought, he would prove himself. One day, he would stand as more than a young Guardsman with fading tusks and too many questions. One day, he would earn the respect that Emo carried so easily.

Diyu increased his pace, moving slightly ahead of the formation to claim a moment of solitude. The road stretched before him, and with it came questions. How did the capital function? How many soldiers did it command? Would the chief bend to reason, or would Diyu need to break him in front of his own people? What knowledge did Noxeer possess of the other clan capitals? What resources could be seized quickly?

The weight of responsibility did not slow Diyu.

It pushed him forward.

As the march continued, his thoughts drifted into old memories of hunting as a young Kreegan. He remembered moving through wet fields with a bow in hand, listening for birdsong, reading tracks in soft mud, laughing with Emo after a clean kill. But every memory ended the same way now. The fields burned. The trees blackened. The sky became fire. Then came the dark void, endless and suffocating, and the echo of torment that had changed him forever.

The visions were not mere nightmares. They were warnings. If Diyu failed to unite the clans, if he failed to acquire the resources needed to leave Hadawon, then his people would share the same fate.

Fire.

Darkness.

Nothing.

Hurried footsteps approached from behind.

Diyu turned and saw Emo running to catch up.

“Emo,” Diyu said, “why are you not at the back of the formation?”

“My lord,” Emo replied, breathing harder than usual, “we have already traveled thirty miles today. It is time to make camp and let the men eat.”

Diyu glanced back at the formation. Only then did he notice the exhaustion in the Guardsmen. Their steps had grown heavier. The wagon animals pulled with lowered heads. Several men leaned into their spears as if each stride had become a negotiation with their own bodies.

“Hm,” Diyu said. “I did not realize we had covered such a distance.”

Emo said nothing, but his expression told Diyu enough. The men were not like him. They are still tired. They still hungered. Their flesh still demanded rest.

“Do what needs to be done,” Diyu said. “Have someone set up my tent. I will scout ahead for a short while and return soon.”

“Yes, my lord. Your will be done.”

Emo fell back and began issuing orders. The formation broke apart into camp duty. Fires were kindled. Wagons were circled. Guardsmen dropped packs from their shoulders and stretched sore limbs beneath armor that already felt heavier than it had that morning.

Diyu continued alone.

The land ahead offered no comfort. Dry grass bent under a weak breeze. The soil had begun to split in thin cracks where moisture should have held it together. This was supposed to be the rainy season, yet the earth looked abandoned by water. Farther ahead, Diyu found the partially decomposed body of an Anoxe lying near a shallow ditch, ribs exposed beneath hide that had begun to pull tight around bone.

He stood over it for a long moment.

The smell of rot should have disturbed him more than it did.

Instead, the corpse felt like evidence.

Hadawon was already dying. The proof was everywhere for those willing to see it. The fields, the herds, the waters, the cracked ground beneath his feet—all of it testified on Diyu’s behalf. Yet so many would still deny the truth until their children starved in front of them.

Diyu returned to camp after sunset and retreated to his tent. He sat alone beneath the low hide roof, listening to the distant murmur of men eating, speaking softly, and trying not to sound afraid. His mind yearned for rest, but his body refused sleep. The cursed form he now wore did not understand fatigue the way flesh once had. It felt unnatural, a vessel forged for one purpose only.

To lead his people away from Hadawon.

Over the next seven days, the Guardsmen continued their northwest journey. The plains slowly gave way to the scent of saltwater, and at last the coastline of the Eastern Sea appeared before them. A warm breeze carried in from the water, heavy with brine. Waves rolled against the shore in a rhythm that made many of the men stop and stare.

Most had never seen so much water in their lives.

“Set up camp here,” Diyu commanded.

Emo turned to him.

“Assemble two groups,” Diyu said. “One for hunting. One for fishing.”

“Yes, my lord.” Emo faced the men and raised his voice. “You heard him. I need two squads of ten. One for fishing, one for hunting. The rest of you, set camp and start the fires.”

The Guardsmen moved quickly, grateful for the chance to stop. Diyu walked past them toward the beachfront and gazed out over the vast sea. The sight stirred something in him he had not expected. For one brief moment, wonder tried to surface. The water stretched so far that it seemed impossible. It caught the light and fractured it into shifting bands of silver and blue.

Then the visions returned.

He saw the ocean drying into cracked basins. Fish and sea creatures flopping helplessly beneath a merciless sun. Rotting beds of salt. Villages waiting for water that would never come. The beauty before him collapsed beneath the future waiting inside his mind.

The flicker of joy died.

Perhaps only when they escaped this forsaken rock would he know peace again.

Several hours passed before the sun began to descend. Once, Diyu had looked upon sunsets with awe. Now every glance toward the horizon filled him with disgust. That burning sphere, once sacred to so many, had become a death sentence written in light.

His hatred for it grew each day.

“My lord.”

Diyu turned as Emo approached with urgency in his face.

“We have a problem. The hunters and fishermen returned empty-handed. Not a single fish. Not a single Anoxe.”

Diyu stared toward the camp.

“Do the men still have supplies in the wagons?”

“They do,” Emo said. “But at our current pace, we will exhaust our rations in four days.”

“Put them on half rations,” Diyu said.

Emo hesitated for only a breath.

“It seems this wretched planet wishes to test us,” Diyu added, his voice low with contempt. “What a despicable rock.”

“Your will be done, my lord.”

Emo left to relay the order.

From that moment, Diyu knew the rest of the march would reveal the truth of his Guardsmen. Only the strongest would survive the remaining miles along the coast. He almost welcomed the trial. It would be useful to know whether the old warrior blood still ran through them, or whether generations of peace had softened them beyond repair.

The following days were harsher.

Half rations weakened the men quickly. Their mouths dried. Their tempers shortened. Armor rubbed raw against shoulders that had begun to sag. When they stopped to make camp, fewer men spoke around the fires. The chant of boots and wagons became a dull rhythm of endurance rather than purpose.

Diyu watched them carefully.

At last, as the men settled into another hungry camp, he stepped into the center of them.

“Listen carefully,” he said.

The Guardsmen turned toward him.

“What you feel now is not my cruelty. It is not the failure of our march. It is this world telling you to die quietly. It is Hadawon showing you the future it has prepared for your children and grandchildren.”

A few men looked away.

Diyu’s voice hardened.

“Will you allow that? Will you let those who come after you suffer this weakness, this hunger, this thirst? Or will you endure hardship now so they will never have to?”

Silence held the camp.

Then Varok stepped forward.

The young Guardsman held his ration in one hand. His face was pale with hunger, his tusks catching the firelight, but his eyes burned brighter than before. He walked to Emo and handed the ration back.

“I am not finished marching yet,” Varok said.

For a breath, no one moved.

Then another Guardsman stood. Then another. Men rose across the camp, some slowly, some with sudden fire. They strapped armor back onto sore bodies and lifted spears from the ground. A chant began near the edge of the firelight, rough at first, then stronger as others joined.

“Ah-roo. Ah-roo. Ah-roo.”

Diyu smiled.

“No,” he said. “We are not done yet.”

He turned toward the road.

“Pack light. Leave the wagons behind.”

The chant grew louder.

“March.”

They were still three days from the capital by normal movement, but the men had been remade by hunger, anger, and belief. Without the wagons, with only what they could carry, Diyu believed they could reach Noxeer in a single brutal push.

“Double time,” Diyu commanded.

Then he began to run.

The Guardsmen ran behind him.

They ran through the night. Emo took command of the cadences, shouting until his voice grew rough, and Varok answered louder than anyone. The rhythm kept the men moving long after their bodies wanted to stop. Armor clattered in the dark. Spears bounced against shoulders. Feet struck the coastal path in a relentless drumbeat.

Around the tenth hour, the weakest began to fall.

Some stumbled and rolled to the side of the path. Others collapsed where they stood, bodies giving out beneath the pace. Diyu did not know whether they died or merely failed. He did not stop to check.

The march had become a test.

Those who could not endure would not stand beside him in the future he intended to build.

By the deepest hours before dawn, even the strongest struggled. Emo’s cadence had grown hoarse. Varok still answered, but his voice cracked with exhaustion. The mighty Guardsmen were beginning to bend beneath the pace.

Diyu slowed, not from fatigue, but instinct. He moved alongside them, letting them see him among their ranks rather than far beyond them.

“Do you know who you are?” he shouted.

Only the pounding of feet answered.

“You are my Elite Guardsmen,” Diyu roared. “The most trusted warriors of my army. When every clan bows beneath my rule, when Hadawon is united, when we rise beyond this dying world, I will stand at the pinnacle with you beside me as my chosen few.”

The men looked toward him through sweat and exhaustion.

“That is who you are,” Diyu said. “Now tell me. Do you know who you are?”

“Guardsmen!” they shouted.

“Again.”

“Guardsmen!”

Even Emo smiled through his exhaustion, pride lifting him despite the pain. Varok shouted until his throat burned. The men ran harder, not because their bodies had more to give, but because Diyu had given their suffering a name.

By daybreak, the capital wall came into view.

It rose from the land like a dark line against the pale morning, massive and ancient, built of stone that had weathered generations. The sight struck the Guardsmen with renewed awe, then exhaustion claimed them all at once.

Diyu raised one hand.

“Halt.”

The command had barely left his mouth before men collapsed to their knees. Some fell onto their sides. Others remained standing only because their spears held them upright.

Diyu faced them.

“The capital lies ahead,” he said. “Is there anyone among you with strength left to accompany me and scout it?”

Emo was the first to stand.

Varok saw him rise and forced himself up immediately after, legs trembling beneath him but face set with determination. A few others followed, though none looked as steady as they wanted to appear.

Diyu nodded.

“The rest of you will rest, then set camp off the path and conceal our presence. We will return with news and our plan for conquest.”

The small group followed Diyu toward the capital. As they walked, Diyu turned his head slightly, addressing the men behind him without slowing.

“You will bear witness to my deeds. When we arrive, no one speaks, and no one interferes. If I call for you, then and only then will you join me.”

“Yes, my lord,” they answered.

As they neared Noxeer, the scale of the capital became clearer. The walls were taller than any structure in Diyu’s village, built from enormous fitted stones and reinforced with dark timber and metal bands. Watch platforms lined the top. Beyond the wall, smoke rose from countless fires, and distant movement suggested a population far larger than any settlement Diyu had ever known.

Then the great metal gates groaned open.

Five Kreegans emerged from the capital, each armed with a spear and wearing armor far better than anything Diyu’s village could produce. They moved with discipline, spreading just enough to block the road without leaving one another unsupported.

Diyu felt his Guardsmen tense behind him.

“Wait here,” he ordered.

He did not look back.

One heartbeat later, he shot forward.

The ground trembled beneath his weight. Dirt and loose stone exploded behind each stride. The wind tore across his face as the distance collapsed between him and the capital guards. Their spears lowered, disciplined and ready, but Diyu could see the tension in their grips. He saw the hesitation hidden beneath their bravery.

They expected a raging beast.

As he drew closer, something colder entered him. Clarity and strategy intertwined with his violence, forming a plan so clean that it almost felt like inspiration. Their skill did not matter. Their courage did not matter. They could not kill him.

They were not obstacles.

They were proof.

Diyu slowed from a sprint to a jog, then from a jog to a walk. His arms opened slowly at his sides. It was an invitation, a challenge, a god welcoming sacrifice.

The first guard charged.

His spear came fast, straight for Diyu’s abdomen. Diyu did not move until the last instant. His hand shot forward and closed around the shaft just beneath the blade. The impact shuddered through the wood and back into the guard’s arms, but the spear point stopped inches from Diyu’s body.

The guard’s eyes widened.

Diyu stared into him.

Behind Diyu, a second guard lunged, driving his spear toward the back of Diyu’s skull. The strike landed with a metallic crack, not the wet satisfaction of flesh pierced by iron. The spearhead shattered against Diyu’s skull, fragments scattering into the dirt.

Diyu chuckled.

The sound was low, almost quiet, but the guards heard it. It was the laugh of something discovering it no longer belonged among mortals.

The remaining guards hesitated.

Only for a second.

Diyu caught it.

He ripped the spear from the first guard’s grasp with ease. The warrior stumbled forward, off-balance and suddenly too close. Diyu pivoted and drove the stolen spear backward with brutal force. The blade punched through the second guard’s stomach, bending armor inward before splitting flesh. The tip burst from the Kreegan’s back in a spray of blood.

The guard gasped, body locking around the shaft.

Diyu lifted him from the ground as though he weighed nothing.

The impaled Kreegan dangled there, legs kicking weakly, blood running down the spear and over Diyu’s hands. A third guard rushed in desperation, abandoning discipline for panic. Diyu lowered the spear just enough. The body slid down the shaft, and the spear point aligned with the charging warrior’s face.

Diyu let momentum finish the work.

The spear drove through the third guard’s mouth. His jaw shattered. Teeth exploded outward. The blade tore through the back of his skull and pinned both bodies together along the same shaft.

Diyu slammed the spear into the ground.

The weapon buried itself deep in the earth, leaving the two corpses stacked grotesquely against one another. Blood streamed down the wood in thick lines. Pale coils of intestines slipped from the upper body and draped across the ruined face beneath it.

Diyu looked at what he had made.

For a moment, he admired it.

Then a scream snapped him back.

The fourth guard threw himself onto Diyu’s back, wrapping both arms around his throat from behind. He squeezed with desperate strength, trying to choke something that no longer needed breath in the same way flesh did.

Diyu did not struggle.

He reached up, closed his hands around the guard’s wrists, and began to peel the arms away from his neck. Slowly. Deliberately. He wanted the guard to understand the difference between them.

The Kreegan cried out.

“Gods, no.”

Diyu dragged him over his shoulder and spun him around until they were face-to-face. He gripped tighter and lifted him from the ground. The guard kicked wildly, feet clawing at empty air.

Diyu’s eyes burned cold.

“You are looking into the eyes of your god,” he said.

Then he planted one foot against the guard’s chest and pulled.

Shoulders popped. Ligaments tore. The guard screamed, the sound so sharp it barely seemed alive. Diyu pulled harder. Flesh split. The muscle stretched. Bone shifted. With a wet, tearing sound, both arms ripped free.

The guard collapsed backward, armless and twitching, blood pouring across the dirt.

Silence fell.

Diyu’s gaze lifted to the fifth guard.

The last Kreegan stood farther back, closer to the capital wall, frozen with his spear hanging limp in his hands. His body remained, but his courage had already fled.

Diyu stepped toward him slowly, blood dripping from his fingers.

“Go back to your capital,” Diyu said.

The guard trembled.

“Tell your chief what you saw here.”

Diyu tilted his head, his expression almost calm.

“Tell him his god wishes an audience.”

The guard broke and ran.

Only then did Diyu’s Guardsmen approach.

Varok reached the scene with fascination written openly across his face. His fear had vanished beneath excitement. He stared at the bodies as if they were not dead Kreegans, but evidence of divine power.

“Did you see that?” Varok breathed. “He ripped his arms clean off. And this one—this one is hanging there with the other one’s insides all over his face.”

“Varok,” Emo said sharply, “leave the dead alone.”

Varok glanced at him, chastened but still unable to fully hide the awe in his eyes.

Diyu ignored the exchange. He walked to the side of the road and sat down, allowing the blood on his arms to drip into the dirt. The violence had served its purpose. Now he needed composure. When the chief of the Anoxe capital came to meet him, Diyu had to appear not as a raider lost to frenzy, but as a ruler certain of his own authority.

Minutes passed.

The gates opened again.

This time, a larger group emerged cautiously from the capital. Their eyes widened as they took in the bodies pinned to the road, the armless guard bleeding in the dirt, Varok’s morbid curiosity, Emo’s grim silence, and Diyu seated calmly beside it all.

At the center of the approaching group walked a Kreegan whose posture marked him as a leader. His skin was darker green than most, and scars cut across his face in old, uneven lines. He wore them without shame. His armor was better crafted than the others’, though not ornamental. Everything about him suggested command earned through survival rather than ceremony.

He stopped several paces from Diyu and surveyed the scene.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “And what has happened here?”

Diyu rose to his feet.

“I am the one they call Lord,” he said. “You will either bow before me, or I will slaughter you and everyone who follows you.”

The capital leader’s expression hardened.

“As for what happened here,” Diyu continued, “it was merely a demonstration of my strength. A lesson in what awaits those who oppose me.”

The leader narrowed his eyes, measuring him.

“You claim divinity, yet we have never heard of you. Why should we believe? Why should we submit to your rule?”

A faint smile touched Diyu’s mouth.

“Believe or doubt. The choice is yours. But my power is real, and my purpose is clear. The clans will be united under my leadership. Resistance will bring only destruction upon you. Hear my message, then choose.”

The leader’s skepticism did not vanish, but uncertainty entered it. His eyes flicked toward the dead guards, then back to Diyu. Whatever doubts he held, the cost of defiance lay at his feet.

After a long silence, he gave a reluctant nod.

“Very well,” he said. “We will hear your words and consider our options. But if I find you to be a false god, I will command my entire army to hunt you wherever you go.”

Satisfied, Diyu motioned toward the gate.

“Take me to your hut,” he said. “Our discussion will determine the fate of your capital. My men will wait outside your walls.”

The leader’s brow tightened.

“My hut?” he muttered.

Diyu did not answer.

Behind him, Emo turned to Varok.

“Run back to camp,” Emo ordered. “Bring everyone. Have them move to the outer wall of the capital at once.”

Varok nodded and sprinted away.

Diyu watched the capital leader begin to turn, then looked at Emo.

“I will give them one full day,” Diyu said. “After that, if they do not submit, I will begin burning their capital down.”

Emo lowered his head.

“We will be waiting, my lord. Your will be done.”