Millions upon millions marched long before the army itself could be seen. The sound came first an unorganized thunder of footsteps rolling across the plains. It had taken two years for this to happen. Two years of preparation, of marching, of gathering every living soul under one banner. Men, women, elders, even children no one was exempt. Not because they were forced, but because there was no other way. If we wanted our children, and their children, to have any future at all, then we had to fight.
Death united the world for the first time in known history. What decades of decree, diplomacy, and bloodline authority could not accomplish, Death achieved simply by arriving. The signs had been there for years, scattered like dark omens across continents, hidden or ignored until denial was impossible. Survival left no room for hesitation.
We the Children of the First One, the Chosen One had set aside our conflicts because the world demanded it. For decades we argued, competed, and clashed over petty matters that no longer mattered. When the moment came, when the world finally realized the enemy was not a conqueror, a beast, or an army, but Death itself, people turned to us. Our bloodline carried divine weapons gifted in the ancient age. With them came authority, responsibility, and a burden only we could bear.
My older brother, the eldest among us, became the Great General. His own son marched at his side. I marched as one of the generals, the younger son of the First One, wielding my own divine weapon. We led not for glory, not for pride, but because we were the only ones who could make the world listen. And the world listened.
The beam of light had appeared months before the war formally began an immense celestial Pillar connecting earth and sky. A column as wide as a city gate, white at its core and fading to the faintest blue along its edges. It was steady, indifferent, as if drawn across reality by the hand of a god. We called it the Pillar. Others called it the Bridge. The devout called it the Path. Names did not matter; all agreed on its purpose. It showed us where to gather. It marked where the enemy awaited.
We had marched for two years toward that divine marker. When we finally reached it, the sun was sinking behind the horizon. The Great General raised his hand, and the horns sounded one, then another, then another until the entire world-army halted as one. From any direction, the host stretched beyond sight an ocean of humanity, the largest army the world had ever seen and would never see again.
Silence settled over the plains. My brother the apex of our lineage hovered above the endless host, scanning for threats. When he descended, his voice carried across the earth, reaching ears that could not possibly hear it under normal means.
"Tomorrow is the day," he declared. "Rest now."
How could anyone rest? How could anyone sleep on the eve of facing Death? Yet fires were lit. Tents were raised. Children curled against their parents. Elders sharpened weapons they were too old to wield. The world refused to go quietly.
I made my way to the command tent, where the other generals my brothers were waiting. As always, our older brother arrived last. When he entered, we rose in respect. He was the eldest, the strongest, the one we had all once feared and envied, yet now admired. He had been like a father to us when our own father vanished from the world.
For months, even years, we had prepared our strategy. Tonight was not for debate, but to confirm that nothing remained undone, no holes remained in our plan. For once, there was no arguing. No rivalry. No stubborn pride. Only the knowledge that dawn would decide humanity's fate.
The night finally surrendered to dawn. The first light rose over a world that had not slept. Fires dimmed, lanterns guttered, and the chatter of a million restless souls faded into uncertain silence. The Pillar burned brighter with the sun white at its core, blue at its edges its radiance refracting through dust, breath, and trembling hope.
Orders rippled through the encampment. Banners were raised. Divisions reformed. Armored lines straightened like iron ribs surrounding the Pillar. The battlefield itself was an immense crater an ancient asteroid scar far larger than any city, a hill inverted into the earth, stretching to horizons that vanished into haze. The world-army encircled it in a perfect ring. No escape. No retreat. No direction for the enemy but forward through us.
Our strategy was brutally simple: overwhelm the enemy. Waves of attack, the Great General and his son leading the first. Though their division was the smallest among the divine holders, it was the strongest.
His son begged him to take the lead. If the father fell, he argued, the son could still command the army. But the Great General refused. He needed to know what would happen when the divine weapon first touched the Pillar. He would not risk hesitation. This burden belonged to him alone.
By the time the army took position, the sun hovered above the crater. The Pillar remained indifferent.
The Great General rose into the air, brandished his divine weapon toward the light, and shouted:
"Attack!"
Thousands of horns followed.
The first wave surged forward. Cavalry thundered across the crater floor, sand exploding beneath their hooves. To my surprise, the Great General did not fly he ran alongside them. Perhaps to bolster morale. Perhaps to remain beside his son. Whatever the reason, they charged together, the first wave rushing toward the Pillar like millions of ants swarming toward spilled sugar.
Then it happened.
A sudden flash of white light struck from behind. It was instantaneous, blinding us all. And as we shielded our eyes, a new movement appeared on the horizon a storm rising from the crater's edge. Dust at first thin, pale, harmless. The army below seemed untouched. Horses, banners, soldiers all still stood, moving as if nothing had changed. For a heartbeat, relief flickered across my mind. Perhaps it was only wind, a desert gust stirred by the Pillar.
But the storm did not stop. It grew, fed by some unseen force, swirling faster, denser. Pale grains of sand tumbled through the air, riding the wind in a massive, expanding wave. Visibility shrank. The army became little more than shadowy forms beneath the curtain of movement.
We the divine holders watched silently. No one moved. Even the Great General hovered at the edge, eyes scanning, trying to discern the threat. Still, nothing struck the army. For now, it seemed harmless.
Then it happened.
The storm reached the front lines. In a single, impossible instant, the Pillar of Light drew everything in. Dust, pale sand, the entire crater's floor all was sucked forward into the beam. My heart skipped. The army, which had stretched beyond sight, vanished before our eyes. What had seemed like harmless dust now revealed its true horror: the soldiers themselves were gone.
A moment of silence followed. The crater, once alive with millions of souls, now swirled only with pale sand. Nothing else remained.
We descended closer, eyes fixed on the Pillar. Pale grains slipped through the light, leaving no trace of the world we had known. My brothers hovered beside me, speechless, disbelief mirrored on their faces.
Then the Pillar expanded. In a single, searing instant, the white blue light consumed the remaining sand, the crater, and us. The world, as we had built it, vanished.
Silence followed. Infinite and absolute.