Moonlight casts a ghostly shadow across the battlefield. The incoming band of reinforcements have arrived too late to help their brothers in arms. The leader, a tall slender man clad in a dingy mud-spattered cloak, dismounts his dark horse and scans the carnage before him. His blood red war paint contrasts the pale blue skin of his race.
More of his kind dismount and stand behind him, taking in the reality of their witness. Bodies on bodies litter the ground both man and animal lay still in the cool night air. Nothing was spared. Some corps still smolder from the demon onslaught they faced.
He had ordered them to stand their ground allowing enough time for his band to evacuate his charge he had vowed to protect. Once she was safe, they returned as fast as they could, but not swift enough. The demon horde proved too powerful and the wrath of their master complete.
The Jinn Prince removed his tarnished helmet, his long silver hair caught the light of the moon and highlighted his somber expression. He motioned for those behind him to check for wounded, but he already knew there was none. Daiimon the demon horde master was not known to leave survivors. They obediently search in silence stopping only to nod negatively to their leader who intently watched their every move.
One of the generals donning the armor of a decorated warrior came to stand beside his heavy-hearted leader. “Sire, we mustn’t delay. There is nothing we can do here.” For such a large Jinn he spoke softly, as consoling a friend. “The wretched demons will be hunting her. She won’t be safe for very long. He is hell bent on the destruction of her people and she is the last of her kind. It is our duty to protect her.” He placed his hand on his leader and friend’s shoulder, “Salazar, she needs us more than they do.” He pleaded with gentle urgency.
The young prince casts his gaze from the battlefield to the face of the hardened warrior beside him. Omden’s face was scarred and his age shown around his tired amber eyes. He knew the warrior was right. Daiimon would not be resting after the battle. His army was a soulless horde spawned from evil itself, they don’t need to rest. Horde serve their master until destroyed. Prince Salazar closed his eyes and nodded in agreement.
“Mount up!” Omden ordered and the stealthy Jinn warrior band returned to their waiting horses and quietly slipped into the darkness.
Early morning mist started to form over the empty battlefield. In the shadow of a nearby ridge stood a hooded figure watching unnoticed. As the band departs, he Steps out into the moonlight. The horror of the demon horde master now becomes apparent. Thick, knobby, swept back horns protrude from the hood of the blood-stained tattered cloak. Only his red glowing eyes marked his featureless face hidden in the shadow of his hood. Long twisted spikes adorn his shoulder armament with smaller ones running down the back protecting his spine. His arms and legs are thick and heavily muscled beneath scaly charred flesh. His veins glow red hot from his molten soulless blood.
Beside him stands an enormous black dire wolf sniffing the scent of the departed Jinn. He reaches down with his huge, clawed hand and touches the alpha beast. In an instant it sets off after the unsuspecting band. Three more giant wolves dash from the shadows following their pack leader. They snarl and snap at each other jockeying for position beside the black alpha as they race off into the night.
Daiimon breathes in deeply and smiles knowing the foolish young Jinn Prince will lead him directly to his quarry. Only one last vial dragon to devour then the realms will be purged of them forever.
To him dragons are like a disease, festering with hope and renewal when there is only darkness and pain. Once they were mighty creatures feared by all. After their defeat in the last great war they were banished forever to rot in the realm of dragons and had become weak.
Daiimon has the ability to absorb the powers of his vanquished enemies, their essence is devoured giving him their skills as they wither and crumble into dust at his feet.
When he gained access to the dragon realm he mercilessly hunted them down. One by one he absorbed their abilities to gain enough power to meet his own grand ambitions.
Now only one consistently escapes his cruel grasp. He squeezes the handle of his bloody sword tethered by his side, then turns back into the shadows and returns to his waiting horde.