They crossed, pouring from the beam of light, a flood of the decayed. Shredded limbs and sliced torsos, black blood dripping from every wound. They were as he was. Dead, but alive. Bodies twisted in ways previously unimaginable to him, the horde was neither man nor beast. Monsters. It was the only word that came to mind.

They followed as he walked, forming a line that streamed endlessly from the portal. Hundreds, thousands, more. He walked and walked, climbing the hill he had descended only a short while ago, stopping only to wait for the rest to arrive in this world.

The creatures - their forms chaotic, bent, wrong - filtered out from the great light, filling the field below with a mass of bodies. Ten thousand, a hundred thousand, more. Uncountable. More poured out from above, winged monsters that soared across the sky, blotting it out in a colony of feathered darkness.

Galal roared, rib cage rumbling, and the horde roared back. A symphony that deafened out the world. Many as one.

Eyes closed, he could feel the vibrations on his skin, the shake of the earth beneath his feet. He could feel the horde, as if each individual member was an extension of his body, each an extra limb to lash out with. He inhaled, taking in the chilled air. He couldn’t feel the cold, nor the pain of his torn flesh. Was he alive? Surely. But not as an individual.

Snow turned to dirt and mud as the horde trod on, the landscape shifting from snow to small croppings of vegetation and barren rock. Night came and left, the days passing one by one. Tireless, Galal never rested, moving onward, always.

Plains gave way to forest. Wildlife was nowhere to be seen, creatures of the woods avoiding the chaotic flood that flowed through their home. Plantlife was crushed under foot, with only trees left standing. Soon enough, they dwindled, becoming flat fields once again. Lorwood, they’d called it. A home for his Khor at one time, not so long ago. Yet another lifetime altogether. Standing, the buildings remained, its populace gone. Abandoned or slaughtered, he didn’t know the truth of it. It didn’t matter now.

Flying, crawling, walking, the horde moved south. They passed village after village, each abandoned. Empty of life. The horde moved on again, further south. To Sansbrook. To the colosseum.

Even from a distance he could recognize it. Stacks of smoke rose, a black smog pooling in the sky. War. The city had fallen before their arrival, alight with a raging fire that spread its width and length, all encompassing. A hellscape of what it once was, its walls collapsed, buildings crumbled, its people hanged from every tree around.

“West.” He turned, the rumble of his marching horde soon following.

A day and night passed before they met the Darstin army, their banners held high, spears point toward the horde, shields raised. Near the center were odd structures on wheels. The tallest ones moved, their beams lifting up and, with them, launching rocks towards Galal and his army. The rocks crashed into his soldiers, sending up dirt and grey viscera.

His flying monsters were the first to act, swooping down upon the army of men, the first crashing into one of the tall war machines, the next toppling another over. The smaller ones swarmed the human soldiers, clawing at them and dragging some into the sky, releasing and dropping them back onto their fellows.

Then the horde charged.