A guard of 300,000 heavenly host is posted at the garden of Eden. 75,000 of these are trumpeters placed 50 kilometers from the gates on all sides to proclaim that this place is the Lord's. 15,000 of the very best are internal guards, keeping watch over the fruit trees and the eldest, purest animals and the Tree of Life. The rest are external guards, patrolling in the 50 kilometers between the trumpeters and the gates. So it has been mandated by the Lord.
But of course, these troops are not autonomous, nor are they anarchic, they are an army, just as those on Earth have armies. They have rank and grade, not that are appointed by each other, but that are appointed by God. Those who are faithful and true are those who lead fearlessly into battle.
Or so it is said.
Major General Mithril Alexandria Aetheriel, Chief Commander of the External Guard of Eden, had never seen even the slightest attempt at taking Eden. No one had ever even attempted to get in. Sometimes, Aetheriel felt as though her job was honorary; that it looked good on paper, but actually wasn't even a real position. However, she still performed her duties, still sang praise to the Lord, and still interacted with her troops as though her job were real. It was not her place as a creation of God to determine whether his steps are valid, and so she tried not to.
But even angels grow restless, thought the commander, slinging her great bow on her back. Taking staff in hand, the blonde stepped out of her office in the gates and headed out to gather troop reports.
The darkness was quick to swallow Aetheriel's elfish form as the door swung shut behind her. It was always night in Eden; the garden had not seen a single dawn since the expulsion of Man and his wife. Still, the trees bloomed and bore fruit, because the Lord allowed them to. Aetheriel moved silently and gracefully through the ranks of cherubim, strongly focused on watching the horizon. The silence may have been unsettling if the tiniest hints of the trumpeters' songs weren't cutting through it like butter. Every so often, Aetheriel would stop, receive report from one of her officers (a familiar "All clear, Commander"), and move on. She almost fell asleep while doing it, it was so routine.
Finally, she reached the last officer, Lieutenant James Crenshaw II. Aetheriel had been so preoccupied with getting back to her desk that she almost missed what he said. She asked him to repeat it, almost certain she'd misheard.
"I've received intel that one of the lower regiments is planning an offensive against the 1660-series Cavalry," Crenshaw reported, looking slightly ill the second time he said it. The commander couldn't blame him; she was beginning to feel a knot in her own stomach.
"Do you know any more than that, lieutenant?" asked Aetheriel, trying to maintain a professional tone. If the 1661st was attacked, what could she do? Aside from martyring herself and her soldiers in hopes of detaining the enemy?
But of course, she was jumping too far ahead. There were so many lower regiments, all of different sizes and fortitudes. And who was to say the Lion himself would accompany his troops? He might think it below him, or in his pride count it an easy foray. Either mistake would greatly decrease the amount of casualties suffered, and of course, with God, Aetheriel's troops could not fail.
Even with this knowledge, Crenshaw's informationless reply still rattled the commander's nerves. Fearing the worst and necessitating preparation, Aetheriel put out the word to her other officers and withdrew to her office to pray.
This... was boring. It always was, for him at least. True, they said this was some major, amazing, epic battles that could be one of the more deciding factors in this war, and in truth just from that he figured he should be more excited. But he could never bring himself to be excited about this war; to him it was just a job, or that's what it always seemed to feel like. Maybe it was the fact that no matter whether he did good or bad with his work, he never truly got praised for it, or maybe it was just the way he was made, or something from his past that just seemed to stick with him, he never really knew.
Oh well... this was a change from the normalcy of taking souls, at least. Maybe he could show just a little bit of energy. When they started, anyway. For now, the feline lazed on the ground, uncaring of the eyes all watching him, the annoyed glare of his superiors. Hell, half of his superiors he could kill without a second thought, he had no need to worry about them. Besides, he was a necessity for this attack to be pulled off, him and the few others that would cause the ruckus whilst the main army came from behind. Many angels underestimated the power that some of the strongest hellbeings had, and they were counting on that to be their undoing.
Finally, the thought was sent into the minds of all the creatures on the field, it was time for the decoys to attack. Leon rolled off his back onto all fours and stretched out, taking his place in line along the rest of the front line. As he listened to the winds, they gave him the general picture of the area they were soon to conquer. He closed his eyes to imagine it clearer... and then they snapped open. A curious, random thought ran through the mind of the feline; as tended to happen with him often.
He looked at those around him, then closed his eyes, sending a thought to those in the lines with him... he knew how to get them riled up, to do what he wanted them to do. It was almost too easy.
They send us out as a decoy... they act as if we're going to just sit there and make noise from the outside while the main army goes in and gets all the credit. I bet they expect most of us to die luring the outer guards. I bet most of our superiors just want the annoyances out of the way, sealed and gone for good...
Leon looked around, and saw the effect his words were having. Demons were prone to anger if they weren't careful, and anger made them do things they weren't told originally. Even those who were supposed to be keeping the line in check were seeming hesitant to say anything to him.
And you, all of you, want to just stand there and let them. What a bunch of pussies. I bet all you're good for is making noise, ain't it?
A loud series of growls, roars, howls, and hisses went through the ranks, and Leon smirked. He had them where he wanted them, and it hadn't taken anything at all.
So you say... then prove it. Let's show our superiors our real strength. Let's go in and destroy Eden.
The noises turned into collective agreement, and Leon let out a loud roar, candle-like eyes blazing bright. For now he was their leader, and as such he began the charge. The surge of energy behind him was amazing, fueling him on faster... well, that and the fact that the wind always let him through with less friction than most. Those directly behind him would feel the slip, pushed forward as well behind him, growling until they saw the outer guards standing there waiting for them...
Leon's claws extended as the need for blood arose fast in him. He closed the distance with the guard fast, back legs coiling like springs to launch him over their spears. He felt his teeth sink into one guard, and moments later the tide came behind him, crashing into angels to force them back. The first angel was put out of commission quickly, and Leon launched his body off of its chest and sank his teeth into the back of the neck of a turned around angel... he seemed new, his attacks were all over the place, and it was way too easy a target to hit.
Leon could feel the blitz of his unit, and he could feel the anxiety of the angels now being so close to them... this little movement would most assuredly be over before the main force broke through to the main gate...
Aetheriel at last withdrew form her office, fully outfitted, with the inner troops gathered to await her orders. The sounds of fighting in the not-so-far-off distance was making those younger in the ranks cringe. Her heart bled for them as she called for her mount.
Her horse, a winged mare called Eofayre, was shod with shoes of the strongest steel. Her sword, which she had not picked up since the great battle of the Fall, felt awkward and heavy in her hand. She would have to wield the bastard with two hands, which she had not done since her mortal life. It was not a condusive fighting style to riding, but Aetheriel decided to use dagger and spear until she found a place to dismount. She fixed her steely gaze forward as she donned her mithril mail beneath a platinum chestplate, platinum bracers and leather riding boots. She had traded her usual, flowing white gown for a pair of leather breeches and a shirt with the insignia of Saint Michel on the chest, though it was hidden by her ornate chestplate. Near her heart, the captain wore a beautiful, shining platinum crucifix, adorned with gold and diamonds, which was given to her by the Lord, Himself when he had installed her as the captain of the guard.
May it e'er protect me, the angel thought, braiding her hair at the crown with shaking fingers. Another moment, and she had mounted Eofayre and was riding to the frontline, where the line of demons already was visible in the distance. The sounds of sentries falling reached Aetheriel's ears even through the racket of the trumpeteers, some of whom had also fallen. Thankfully, most of her men did not seem to have noticed the cries of the brethren, and she hoped they would not until it was too late to fear. With a deep breath, Captain Aetheriel urged Eofayre to take flight, waiting until most of her soldiers' heads had turned upward to begin her speech.
"My brothers," she cried in a voice stronger than she felt, "today we reckon that which the Lord has determined us for, that which for all eternity, we have waited. Our purpose, today, shall become clear!"
A young-looking angel, one whose wings had not even molted but once, began to sob on the shoulder of his fellow, fear shuddering through his entire body. Aetheriel tore her eyes away from him, fighting the tears that pricked the backs of her eyes. Reluctantly, she continued, wishing she could end this before anymore angels had to be hurt.
"Do not lose heart!" she cried, feeling hollow. "God is with us. Who can stand against us? How many times must we conquer this enemy? Allow yourselves no fear. Press on with courage! Let God's wrath come down on them! They have been given unto us. Let us charge on now and meet them! Meet them--and show them their folly!"
The troops began to cheer, the very ground shaking as they stomped and slammed their spears into the ground. Aetheriel smiled, turning back toward the enemy. In the back of her mind, she could still feel her nagging doubt and fear, her guilt over what was about to occur, and yet, she felt an eerie peace. Soon it would all be over. She only hoped she would be one of the lucky ones whose fate was to die.
There was a brief moment of silence. All eyes turned toward the horizon, where their enemy awaited them. Aetheriel closed her eyes, timing her breaths carefully with the beating of her heart.
"Forward--MARCH!"
Oh what a beautiful sounding battle cry... too bad that cry wouldn't be enough. It seemed most of the army was coming after his regiment, a bad idea on their part. It left Eden open, and left them to be pinched in by the rest of the army coming around behind them. Leon could feel the main coming around... the angels would be trapped, and hopefully he would actually get some credit for this. And if not... they would need to find the leader, and solidify their position.
Leon roared for them to push the line of angels back, and they began to force them further and further, watching the army moving closer behind them. On all fours, Leon could move much quicker, and dodge a bit easier; the angels were nicking him here and there, but none of their attacks truly went home. This was starting to get ridiculous nonetheless... the main lines were closing fast around, and the decoys weren't moving fast enough! Suddenly the air began to surge around him... if they weren't going to do this fast, he'd force a break through the line and to the enemy.
The rest of the demons knew what was going to happen, and for a moment they seemed frantic, pushing hard away from the feline, leaving him by his lonesome. The confusion would hopefully work to his benefit... if these were mostly young creatures, they would stop short before they attacked the lone feline, and that was all the time he needed. In that time he forced a vacuum around him, driving the air around him hard enough back to repel the line of soldiers. In the instant that the break was made, the demons came back behind him and began to charge, knowing what would happen next.
Leon's legs forced him forward as the air filled behind him, propelling him far past the line of angels, along with a few of the quickest in his line. The feline's speed didn't reset either, in fact he seemed to move faster. And finally he got close enough to see what the wind had told him; a cherubim knight, sitting atop a pegasus. He sent a message behind him as soon as he saw her- The flying bitch is mine.... The main line were closing fast behind the angels, but he knew he'd get there before they did, and as such he had first choice. His claws sheathed out as he got closer to her position... she was up in the air, so he would need a little distraction before he tried anything without ending up skewered, sliced, or otherwise put out of commission. The army below her would be perfect for that.
His body heat up fast as he got close to them, the fire in his eyes so large it overtook the entirety of his gaze. He waited until the last moment, when none of them could prepare, or feel the heat from his body, and burst completely into flames. As soon as he slammed into the line of angels, the wind once again came to his aid, taking the flames and expanding them until it became a huge explosion. The explosion not only helped to render many of those angels gone from existence, but it hid him... and as soon as his body had reset from its speed, he gathered his legs under him, the wind beneath them, and sprang up from the flames, eyes set on the cherubim. He went for the wings of the pegasus first, firing balls of flames up towards them to either get her to swerve or knock her off her mount, tail extending like a rope to bind her when he got close enough.