Morrigan heard the trumpet call. He himself had ordered it. But as he saw his men standing, their armor shining despite the cloudy skies above, he couldn't stop himself from memorizing their unscarred faces before they had to fight: unscarred by physical or mental blows. He felt paralyzed in his knowledge - for it was something his was sure of, without a doubt - that these men would be wounded by what was to come. Some would come home bandaged and bruised. Some would come with their minds as battered as their body.

Some wouldn't come home.

"Sir!" Morrigan turned to the side. The courier boy was practically trembling in his fright. "Sir, l-look..." Gently, the boy rose a shaking hoof, pointing, not towards the oaken gates of the castle, but towards the side fields.

Morrigan looked to the fields and his blood ran cold. The monsters did not run - what reason would they have to rush? This was the time for a seasonal stroll on the eve of a feast, to them. Their skulls - for that's all they were - contained no true sight, but for an icy hot, brazen blue flame. Yet, their sightless eyes seemed to peer deep into the very souls of the living, secrets and the essence of their being being read out like words on paper.

Morrigan saw the swords by the skeletons' sides. Saw the normal kings knights shifting around the monsters with dark sneers. They were confident. Those.. Things were strong.

"Hold," Morrigan said, sensing the unease rippling through the men. They shifted around, tense. Morrigan trotted to the front of his men, watching as the monsters flanking the castle stopped for their orders. Now was his only chance to make them confident.

He turned to them, eyes narrowing. "Men! Lend me thy ears, thy eyes, thy very souls!" The knights watched him as ordered, their eyes filled with discord, uncertainty. "These monsters are what the king sends to end us... He chooses to sit on his throne and abandon even the glory of battling off the mutiny that knocks on his front gates! What king bows to his people, bows and bends to those he should help thrive?"

Nopony answered, but Morrigan saw their tension relax a moment. It was working. “All of thou believe thyself weak. Am I correct?” His words stirred through the crowd as they turned and looked around, confused. A few stood prouder while a few seemed to shrink. “Good. For we all are weak inside.” Morrigan turned towards the monsters. “Yet look at them. They are bone - They are something we all have within, something strong. If such a thing rests in our very bodies, then we must be stronger than we know.”

Morrigan closed his eyes softly. "Art thou scared, men?" He heard his men mutter behind him, picking out the affirmations. "Any who deny their fear art either braver than I, or far more idiotic." Morrigan chuckled dryly. "I am quite afraid, men, of these monsters, these creatures that are so confident, they allow me to talk to thee now... They are foals. Not for the time they give me... But because fear has helped us survive. They have none... And they will not survive us!"

“Aye,” he heard one brave knight shout behind him. He smiled.

“The king is weakened, his strength grown soft by his age and tiredness. He has faded into the throne he rests on. It is not only our right, but our duty to see this battle through.” Morrigan turned his back on the monsters to see his men battle ready, wielding their weapons with a fire in their hearts. He raised his sword high, the sun peeking through the clouds, silhouetting his figure against a stormy battlefield. “Who here will do their duty, for king and fief?!”

A unified shout came from those gathered, full of spirit and bravery. “For our lives, and for all others, we charge!” Spinning around, Morrigan charged straight to the monsters. He heard his men ride behind him. The monsters raised their weapons, their orders given. They charged.

Morrigan felt his heart pounding in his ears. Felt his blood rushing. Felt a grin rise to his face. They would win. They would return home, glorified, a new king on the throne. The lands would flourish as in tales of old, lives would be saved.

He would do good.

That’s when the first screams began.
*~*~*~

Unspeakable pain. Torrid, searing fire made every movement ache. His armor was stained with the blood of those few enemies whose bodies still contained true life - strange, he realized, how welcome ruby was to emerald.

Morrigan galloped, crying out as he dealt yet another blow to his enemies, grinning darkly as the head of the nearby skeleton rolled to the ground. The things body still moved, but Morrigan was determined to end that.

He slashed wildly, decapitating many an enemy around him. The world was a blur around him - There was only him and his enemies. None in his way, no pain to stop his quest. He tasted blood on his tongue; whether his own or others, he supposed it didn't matter now. All blood tasted similar.

His rage was dimmed as well. Inside, he felt... Content. Calm. He felt alive.

He had read about this, once. Olden tales of knights, pushed through trauma and pain, enough to make them go Berserk... So mindless in their killing, nothing would stop them. Was that all he was now? A Berserker?

He dodged yet another attack, only to feel a sword go through his battle weakened armor. His blood ran freely from the wound. Snarling, as primitive as an ice wolf, Morrigan spun, breaking the sword away from the stallion before him. The kings knight backed away as Morrigan charged toward him, roaring in madness.

“P-Please,” screamed the knight as he tried to flee, tripping over his own hooves. “Please, I’m only following orders!”

Morrigan grinned a bloody grin, his teeth stained from the splattering blood of all those who fell to his hooves. “Good,” he roared, slashing at the man’s exposed neck. The man rolled to the side, instead receiving the blow against his dented hoof armor. Morrigan kept him in his sights, laughing. “Stand and fight, coward! Stand and accept thy death!” Spreading his wings, which had already lost many feathers and had been badly injured, he charged forward.

The stallion screamed, limping. The blow to his armor had done enough to damage his hoof. Stumbling, he barely managed to dodge the blade, falling to the ground. He gazed up in fear at the pony above him, now silhouetted by the somewhat setting sun. Darkness clung to his features, and all the pony could see perfectly was his hideous grin of red.

“Enjoy hell.”

Killing the stallion took but a moment. His screams were silenced as soon as they came.

Morrigan turned, the stallions death stirring nothing in his heart. He was filled with darkness, Morrigan justified. He was shadowed by his orders... It is my duty to smite those shadows...

Morrigan held his head, groaning. Shouts called out from various sects of the battlefield. Swords clattered against armor. Ponies screamed as they were slain. Screaming. Yelling. Clashing, light and dark. Why did it all hurt so much?

Morrigan opened his eyes, only to feel blinded by the glistening ruby snow around him. He felt cold. All too cold, paralyzed by the ice trying to worm it's way into his bones, to still him into hibernation. He groaned as he dropped his sword, trying to fight his mutinous mind and body. "I-I will not yield," he panted out as he stumbled forward. "I WILL NOT YIELD!"

He opened his eyes wide, screaming as warmth overtook him, a flaming cold warmth that stung and burned all at the same time. The screaming was drowned by his own as eternity latched onto him, surrounding him in timeless agony. Time stole him away from the fight.

He saw nothing but whiteness and light - then, even that left him as consciousness fled.

The battlefield was silent but for a small breeze. That same breath of the earth swayed the solitary white flag, causing it to detach from it's weakened bow. Fluttering to the blood stained snow, the white flag turned a crimson shade of red, melting into the gory scene and blending in with the bodies, like sacrificial sheep.

Author's Note

Finally close to the end~