The legion of two hundred men marched across the soft wet grassland in five columns, forty men in each column each marching in perfect steps. The five columns all marched behind three white horses, the center being the one all the soldiers had faith in, even despite the abysmal qualities of The Spring Lands.

The Spring Lands themselves were once a beautiful glade of deep green blades of grass, with lakes rising up on every bowl of the sweeping landscape. Yet like so many other places, the destruction laid in the wake of Darkseid scarred this place as well. The grasses in these lands were thinned and scarce, always taking on a deep brown in color, as though the grass could never see the sun. The once fertile soil now appeared to always be saturated… caused every step in its wake to sink into the muddy traps within. The men hated marching the forty five miles of the muddy field, pulling their heavy boots out of the muck, by mid day their ankles burned and their knees were sore. It was a kind gesture of the prince, to allow then to remove portions of their armor for this journey, not enough to make the walk any more burdensome, but there was always a charismatic look to Prince Kal-El even when he was deeply in sorrow.

The horse hooves and heavy metal boots made sucking sounds in the deep black mud with every footfall only to be drawn out in splatters of mud. The once proud red, blue, and yellow armors of the soldiers were specked with large clouts of earth and mud. The horses whom all were all well groomed, and clipped to show off the stunning white coats of the mares now were drenched with the sludge of this place, sticking to their legs painfully, every motion pulling on their skin, every motion of their emasculated muscles causing a deep breath from the horses mouths, breath that instantly fogged in the chilling air.

Prince Kal-El sat in his saddle easing the horse along the marching path; the raven black locks he wore were plastered to his sloping brow. The deep blue eyes that inset in the strong face looked around as frantically as any scout. Above him the sky was easing from the deep blue atmosphere of the day, transgressing into the grey tones of dusk. He was hoping to reach the Smallville Settlement before nightfall. After marching in the Spring Lands, for three solid days… Kal-El hoped to treat his tired men, with drink, bath, and a warm bed before heading back to Metropolis. “James.” Kal spoke in his broad somber voice.

The scout turned his head to his prince. The long shimmering red hair, of the lad was tied tightly into a pony tail, yet a few strings had gotten free from the bonding and had gauged across his face. “Yes milord?” the young boy asked.

“Ride out ahead, a little ways and see if the Smallville Settlement is in view. I was hoping to reach there before sundown,” the Prince explained.

“I see,” Lutkar spoke. “And has Desaaid returned yet? Time is of the essence, if he is to fulfill his side of the bargain. I have already heard rumors of other former Warlords raising from the dead, some taking over... some falling in battle.” Lutkar frowned. “So needless to say he and Grodd were successful in something. What that is I am not so sure. If the Dark Mage had been awoken I am sure there would be larger consequences than just a few dead men taking over cities.”

“Yes, I have heard rumors as well. The Dwarves of Faucette fell, and it was only the interference of one of the Brotherhood’s members that any of the Dwarves remained,” she informed him. “My information points that though the capital was taken in Faucette that many of them still survive deeper in the mountains, and their champion Mar-“

“I don’t care about the Dwarves MERCY!” Lutkar turned around finally his silk robes following in a swoop behind him. “I don’t care about an Orc and a healer from some goddamn small bumpkin village traveling over the lands… I don’t care that Atlantis has completely disappeared off the face of Metarun! There is only one thing I care about!” His fists clenched tightly, his knuckles turning to the color of bone white.

“I… I’m sorry Mi lord... there have been no sightings of Desaaid, or Grodd.”

“I hope he didn’t use me for gain. I hope this is not the case. I put a lot on the line to help him. In the promise that Kal-El would be dealt with-- I deserve his head…”

“With all do respect, killing one soldier would not be a problem for me,” Mercy spoke.

“No, even though I respect your skills, Mercy. You are a link back to me. I do not want to feel the wrath of the King of Metropolis.”

“So what should I do, mi lord? What do you want of me?” Mercy asked.

“Find the Necromancer.”

“That won’t be necessary,” a voice whispered from the door. A withered form drew itself into the doorway. Tattered robes of green clung over the weathered body, a hood cast down over the face. “I have been sent, by my master… to assure you everything is well prepared,” the voice called in a hoarse voice. Each word exhaled a breath stinking of earth and decay.

“I am really getting sick of this,” Lutkar spoke. His furious face grew into a solemn glare. “Tell me… shambling corpse… what do you mean… everything is prepared? And how long have you been hiding here?”

Loud hooves echoed off in the distance, which caused the prince to raise his head from the dour mood he was in. His head tilted up to see the billowing cape and hair of the scout Sir James. The lithe boy’s body moved with the stride of the horse, his long hair bunched up in a tight ponytail bounding over his broad shoulders, his maple-brown leather armor tightly fixed across his torso. “Hail my prince!” James called out as he neared Kal-El’s sentry.

A smile crafted over the sober face of the prince as he saw his closest friend riding back to rejoin him and the others. “What was that- twenty minutes?” Kal-El asked.

“Yes, we should arrive at the settlement within the hour my prince,” James told his commander before he let his head slip into a bow.

“Do you hear that men? One hour until we reach the settlement! Food and board is on ME!”

“HOORAH!” The soldiers shouted in unison behind the large horses.

“Are you sure that is wise my prince?” A voice to the right of him called out. The elderly man sat up in his own horse balancing the girth of armor against the saddle horn as he turned to Kal-El. The long strains of grey hair slid across the robust cheeks of the old warrior. A thick scar ran from the middle of his brow past an eye and down his cheek. The eye itself was completely white, as was the payment for an axe that caught his skull. “The military coffers are running low, as we all know.”

“At ease, Sir Perry,” Kal-El told the man who had raised him as a son. His large deeply tanned hand patted the armor covered shoulder of the noble warrior. “I will be taking this out of my personal coffers.”

“Your Father’s son to the bone, Kal-El… to the bone.”

“You honor me greatly old friend... more than you can ever know.”

“Oh believe me Kal, I know quite a bit of all sorts of honor. But honor is nothing without kindness.”

“And duty is nothing without peace.”

“As the saying goes, kid,” Perry said with a smile as he tightened his hands on the reins. There was of course, still an hour of marching remaining. Perry knew what the men and what the horses could take in this mud-cased cesspool. They would be cutting it close. Partly the old warrior was proud of the soldiers and the endurance they showed, surprised that not one of them had fallen yet.

“It was strangely serene,” James began, “Birds flying and singing, the coons were out running between the trees, even saw some rabbit and field mice, mi lord.”

“I’ve heard some bird chirps but didn’t think anything of it. Do you think the trolls have moved on, perhaps? Maybe Metropolis has finally gotten too close after a thousand years, too close for their comfort?” the Prince asked.

“It could be. It is something to investigate. I just don’t see the Trolls picking up and leaving, and none of us hearing anything about it. Perhaps there is something more a foot. I advise we should trek with caution.”

“I will see to a full investigation as soon as we return back to the castle. Your council is just as important to the royal family as those we have on staff.”

Large silhouettes sat on their haunches in the scores of tens or twenties, large gnawed shapes, who looked as close to rocks as living creatures could. Some of them moved about the makeshift camp, which was not so much a camp as a few trees broken apart and cleared for sitting space. The sun’s light however did not break through the dense canopy of trees, leaving the large rock-like creatures imprisoned in a world of grey tones and subtle blues. Even the trees themselves seemed to be growing from wicker paper. It would be no mistake what these creatures were with their long thin arms, large shoulders and bodies composed of thick rough hides, with ripples of muscles that appeared to be more like cliffs on a small human shaped mountain. If one had to question it, the sounds that beckoned from their purple lips screeching out mouths with thousands of pointy razor sharp teeth, made the point solid. They were Trolls, once believed to be mountains themselves, cast from the skies many millennia ago, and imprisoned with only the barest reflection of what they once were.

The legion surrounded in a huddle, some devouring the flesh of live rodents bleeding in their large paws, the still beating hearts exposed through bite-sized tears in the bodies. Others howled and snapped to others of their legions, or gave way with fists of knuckle, in a foreign conversation medium. Yet one… the largest of these Trolls sat away from the legion. His skin a deep gray, he seemed vaguely different from the army only steps away. His skin was hairless, with shrapnel of rock poking through the robust flesh of his back and arms. His face was rounded and nimble compared to the enormous torso, his neck protruding from the deep terrain of muscles that rounded his shoulders. His own purple lips stayed silent as his lavender eyes looked towards the mountains of Faucette. His body’s still movement did not break even when he heard the clumsy steps of an outsider walk over the broken branches littering the camp.

The snapping of twigs brought awareness to the large grey beast. Desaaid’s green, coal-like eyes watched the creature as he bent over the twigs, his body moving without grace or balance. His boots came to a stop as he got within speaking distance of the Troll King. The Troll King of three hundred years ago, who up until two nights past, was only a rotting corpse. Part of Desaaid wondered if he remembered why he looked so different from the other Trolls. The Necromancer wondered if he recalled his becoming, the curse that was laid upon him by leaving behind his clan, before turning his back on the Dwarven people.

“Doomsday, I see you are in readiness to end our pact,” Desaaid called out, his tongue slithering on his words.

“Yess… We are ready to strike at the armies of Metropolis. We are ready for our first battle,” the Troll spoke in perfect common tongue. “Though I must inquire why you are here, assisting me, in this battle… in my sworn duty.” The small skull turned on the large neck, joints popping in sick percussion. “Do you not trust my allegiance to you… to Darkseid?”

“Then why go to all the trouble of turning the field of battle in our favor?”

The legion of soldiers slowed to a stop as they neared the gates that ran across the settlement. The large wooden gates, stood like a sentinel of toffee brown oak set in x patterns crossing the entire length of the settlement. The three horsemen at the front of the legion stood still holding their reins firmly at the edge of the gate. Horses stomped over the soft mud, their heads bowed, noses billowing out steams of stubborn need. It took a few minutes of silence ushering over the troops before the guard appeared from the door of the watch house. Like the soldiers themselves the large blond haired man wore the red, yellow and blue of the city of Metropolis, his metallic armor shimmering over the glow of oil lanterns that hung above either side of the gateway. “Greetings my Prince,” the officer said, his fresh pink skin paling over the glimmer of his bright blue eyes. The guard turned his gaze over the squared face of the heir to the throne of Metropolis.

“We have been on patrol, and seek comforts of bed and food from your settlement,” the Prince told the guard, his voice broad and deep, threatening even in its simplicity.

“Yes, we got word from the palace that you were crossing the Spring Lands and would arrive at our gates. But you are a day’s ride early are you not?” the guard asked, his gauntlet-covered hands tensing over the gate door.

“Yes, we have ridden hard through the Spring lands, and shaved hours off our march. I do apologize for the lateness of our arrival, but with the talks of the attacks in Faucette, I do wish to return to the city with haste. But we cannot over look our patrols especially if danger is a foot.”

The guard nodded to the prince. The ringlets that hung uncut across his sloping forehead slung down over nimble brows as he took a step back from the gate. Kal-El, Sir James and Sir Perry watched intently on their mounts as the guard bent forward, his hands easily unlatching the mechanism that held the gate firmly locked. Finally after the snapping of three pulleys followed by a high-pitched whirl of sprockets the large gate door swung open. The strain on the joints that hung the gate to the door screeched at the weight as the door finally came to a stop.

“Welcome to Smallville. Most of the market has closed for the night, but the lanterns still shine in the inn,” the guard announced to the legion. “With all the reports coming in from as far as Genesis, and the Windy City, there has been little commerce; most of the rooms are available.” The guard smiled as he took a few steps back to let the legion through.

Kal-El brought his hand up to his own forehead saluting the guard in the regal manner, justified only by those of the highest rank in Metropolis, a rank that Kal-El achieved only by birth despite the legends on the battle field he had accumulated in his military tincture.

Only one other time had the King of Metropolis been caught unaware by psychic transmissions. The first time was by his wife, the Lady Dorwell, when she gave birth to his son, Kal-El. His head stood aloft, even moments after the emotional vapors of his violation ended. His long graying black hair trickled down his face, spilling like silken vines down his robe. His face pruned from years of stress of age sat shocked, glimmers of flush marked across the sharp points below his eye sockets. His hushed lips still quivered even despite being masked by the graying beard, which stood well clipped and dignified.

The King was not unintelligible about telepathy, or about the magicks of the mind. As a child he was schooled in Atlantis, and learned the proper ways of all forms of magic, even without the knowledge of the Arcane coursing through his veins. Awareness was protection, and Mon-El was well protected both of mind and spirit. As King it was his duty not to leave surface thoughts in the open, where Magi could easily take up such thoughts. Yet, despite his powerful mental walls something coursed through. Not just something… a vision and a fear… the simulation chilling his very bones.

“My King, what is wrong?” The guard looked up from his post by the door. Through the battered helmet he watched the unmoving form of Mon-El, the man who ruled his city… ruled his life. “Sir?” he asked a second time before finally getting an answer.

“Rouse Sir Occult !” Mon-El snapped, his bright eyes staring at the guard. “I am in need of his services.”

“There is no need,” came a loud booming voice, as the door to the study slammed open. Folds of cloak the color of butter toffee swung across his body sweeping over the toes of his boots. The advisor found not a look to the guard only straight to his king. To the man whom he owed his very life, it was this reason alone he… now served willingly to the royal house. Like the King, Occult’s face was sagged with creases of wrinkles running trails over his once muscular face. His hair however retained none of its youthful color; instead the short closely clipped mane was completely white including his eyebrows and the goatee that ran a circle of his mouth. “I feared something like this would happen. With all the events happening even while we stand relaxed.”

Mon-El stretched his neck out wide, his elbows placed across his knees as he watched his most trusted advisor. “What ever do you mean my friend?”

“There have been quite some strange disturbances in the fragile web of the Arcane. I have been feeling it for two days, and I thought it might have been unrelated to the events that prescribed in Faucette, about one who looked like the Teth Adam. But then too a battle raged in Genesis that spoke of Para Demons and one who could have been Kalibak. And one in a small village known as Boulder Town, with a mystic woman known as Scorch Tamaranian. And in more places reports are coming from other leaders who look like the Warlords of Darkseid; in Atlantis, Gotham, Keystone, and Star Citadel. We can’t ignore this. That, combined with the forces at work, whose energies seem to battle one another. It can only lead to one possible outcome.”

The King’s eyes grew double in size… “Darkseid… But even if that is true, what makes you think I would suffer an attack on my person, especially one of the telepathic nature?”

“What do you remember about the attack? Are there any images that you can recall?” Occult asked. “Any reoccurring people or knowledge? Perhaps the sword of Darkseid?”

“By the gods of Raktor,” the king whispered… “Kal-El… all the images I saw were Kal-El.”

“Where is he now?” Occult demanded.

“On patrol… in the Spring Lands.”

“HO! And you should have seen the faces of that Troll when we emerged from the brush!” Sir Perry the White boomed over the music and conversations that drifted over the inviting lounge area. Despite the sounds of his old friend, and the ruffling of breaths and jeers from Jimmy the Ol-Son. Kal-El’s attention was not placed on the food and drink, however. His eyes instead found themselves wandering from the decorations of boar heads and large broadswords fixed to plaques upon each of the tanned walls. The bright eyes of the Prince found joy from watching his tired men, able to rid themselves from worry, stress, and fatigue of the march with song, good food and drink. In the great gatherings amidst the patrols, this was one of the frailties that Kal had as a leader… He never felt quite like everyone else. Aside from just being a prince, there always felt like there should be something else.

Even as a young boy he grew up fast reaching five feet by the time he was eight years old. Yet despite his large stature he also soon gravitated towards swordsmanship honing his agility to levels of great speed and grace very quickly. His strength of course was unmatched… a strength that even rivaled some of the smaller giants. Kal-El often wondered if he truly was from Metropolis. Sometimes he wondered if he was human at all.

His gaze ripped from the inn’s wall as the door swung open, one of the thick wooden doors thudding hard against the wall. The laughter and music stopped at once, as a silence riddled itself over the filled floor. A single figure walked two steps forward. The shadows cut over the weathered floor as the man dropped forward. His hands slapped against the floor. His clothes were ragged with burn holes and sliced to ribbons, hanging against the beaten form. The well muscled, tanned skin was open in places marked with the crimson of his blood. “The Trolls…” he cried out, taking in a lung full of air, trying to raise his head from the ground, a thick mop of blond hair matted across his face… “…They came out of no where… not even stopping their stride when we met them at the gates… A slaughter!” he wailed.

Kal-El immediately rose from his seat, the deep red cape that hung across his pristine armor swept over his boots as he strode towards the man. “The Trolls attacked you? How many?” Kal-El asked coming to a stop at the fallen man.

“Scores of them… as though every Troll in the hills, united under one dreadful leader…” he coughed…

“Where?” Kal-El pleaded his body dropped low to lift the man into his large hands. “Where were they going?”

“North!” The man coughed, his body almost hesitating as though his mortal coil was unraveling even as he spilled out his information. “They were marching towards Metropolis… Doomsday, has returned…” With those words his body went limp- leaving Kal-El staring at him.

“Doomsday?” Kal-El wondered aloud as he looked at the man who had just died in his arms. “How can that be?”

“There have been accounts of other Warlords of Darkseid returning from the grave… They are who have been attacking the cities,” Sir James spoke.

Kal-El’s large head turned to the scout. A grimace and cold glare loomed over the Prince’s charismatic face. “And you neglected to tell me this?”

“I’m sorry, My Lord, but I didn’t think…”

“Yes, Jonathon, it... it was.” Kara turned her eyes upwards her hair spiraling across her presently flushed cheeks. “It… Oh by the gods, what ever will we do?” she exclaimed.

The sun had faded back beyond the clouds, but the change wasn’t noticed in the thickest patches of the overgrowth. A loud sliding of rock and thick hide scraped over the grey form as his neck angled up. His fully black eyes found the glowing sockets of the Lich and only gave a simple nod at first. His low eyebrows however lifted grating across the rocks that clung out from his scalp. The wrinkles over his skull creased back until they met the thick ringlets of silver hair that were only the merest scraps of their former glory-only a simple thin ring of hair remained. “Your trap?” he asked finally his voice bitter and distant, as though the very rocks offered more solace than the human words of Desaaid.

The Necromancer nodded his head. The hood that craned around his nimble shoulders moved with him as he arched into almost a full bow. His teeth chattered momentarily as he lifted his head up to the Warlord. “Well more of incentives, to give you favor.”

“Do you take me for a fool?” Doomsday’s voice picked up in both anger and volume. “Do you think I cannot fight with the best of them? Do you think I need weakened warriors to wage forth? If the battle is easily won… it’s not worth fighting!”

“Spoken like a true Member of Clan Marvel,” Desaaid spat. “But we cannot wait for the Prince’s men to sleep and rest, for time is not a factor we have. We must prepare Metarun for the Master’s return. And your success tonight, will fulfill our boon to the ally who made this all possible.”

Doomsday turned away from the Necromancer. His body stilled as he looked at the weak creature… If he did not owe him for resurrecting him it would be another story. With a growl his head nodded. “This day my armies will service you. And only this day… we will engage in your slaughter.” The Troll reamed, “But only this day, and with a heavy heart, we will emerge. But I will tell you this is only the choice I give… for Darkseid. For he gave me a chance when all was lost. My life debt will not go unnoticed.”

Kal-El tightened his hold on his reins and his thick legs squeezed across the horse’s abdomen as the horse left its front feet of the ground. He tried to force the horse down despite the disarray. Sir Perry’s horse launched him from the saddle. His thick armored body hit the dirt hard, his iron gauntlets tinged with the ferocity of the dismount. Even as the horse men were battling their mounts and the soldiers trying to steady the line, hundred of shapes began to peel through the brush, grey bodies, and deep brown ones as well tensed with rock hard skin and smooth muscles. The sweeps of the long limbs of leaves barely audible under the war cries.

The soldiers who still remained on their feet turned their heads at the cries of the running Trolls in unison they drew their swords. With the dismount of Sir Perry they had to act on their own discretion, his orders could not be heard. The applause of metal blades being released from the scabbards was an air of confidence the men needed. The sound not only roused the foot soldiers who now turned to the left flank at the charging Trollic forces, but also it caused the Prince… the general of this guard to come to his senses as his horse eased back to the ground. Momentarily the soft blue gaze of the Prince turned his neck over his shoulder to see Sir James’ mount as steady as she’d ever been. Unlike the warhorses that were trained only for charges not sneak attacks, the scout’s horse was in fact trained to be light footed and to not spook at all no matter how much pain or actions went on. It was crucial that a scout’s horse not rouse those he would be spying on.

“James! Fall back and circle about the line, make sure it stays steady,” Kal-El called out. “Sir Perry keep the defense flank straight and courage the archers for distance snipes!” Even as Kal-El’s words shouted his horse gave off a high pitched neigh, the steamy breath fogging as the reins tightened. Another heartbeat from the body of Sir Perry it took to get to his feet. The momentum of whim pushed the Prince forward to the left offensive flank of the foot soldiers that had already drawn into the blades and maces of the offending Trolls. Kal-El’s smile faded into a grimace as the reins were brought free of his left hand. Sliding his cape from the hilt of his large sword, his gigantic hands circled about the red laced handle of his bastard sword. With a mighty tug the large sword pulled from its sheath screaming a shrill of metal. The Prince swung his large arm- which was holding the gigantic sword- upwards, high above his head as his horse galloped with little abandon toward the rampaging war that was already staining the ground with the reds of blood and sky clouding with a midst or rock and perspiration.

The scores of Trolls, whose count was immeasurable, circled around the soldiers, who were scarcely numbered at around seventy-five. The bodies of Trolls being cleaved in half by the raging battle within gave the Prince a hope for this battle, yet the bodies of his men who were falling hard into the ground distanced his confidence with a aura of infidelity. He couldn’t risk waiting not when his men were falling to the large pikes and scimitars of the Troll army. The cries of anger and death swam around him like puss. The Prince pulled his left foot from the stirrup, as he neared the green and brown huddle that surrounded his soldiers… his friends. “For METROPOLIS!” Kal-El shouted, his large sword swooping as he pulled the reins tight on his mount. The sword’s sharp blade tore into the thick flesh of one of the Trolls; the venous blood hissed in a steam as the neck separated from its body. The Prince saw he got the attention of a few of the Trolls with his attack-six pikes lashing toward the Prince. The large bastard sword turned to catch as many of the pole arms as he could, the metal tips clanking onto the gigantic blade he wielded as easily as a rapier.

Leaning forward to push the pikes back, however the Prince felt the coldness of one blade penetrating his abdomen. He growled at the pain as he brought the hilt of his sword down hard on the pole arm snapping it with both swiftness and strength. Kal-El let out a grunt as he brought his sword back through the air catching another series of pikes and blades. As he held the weapons at bay momentarily he balanced his body forward on his right stirrup. “Krypto, find Sir Perry!” he called as he leaped from his mount, his sword gnashing through the bodies of the Trolls.

There was a chorus of rousing cries from his soldiers, some of which continued to battle with masks of their own blood. Others yet being cleaved down by the massive, opposing forces. “Fight my brothers!” Kal-El spat as he slipped a buckler onto his right forearm. The Prince never stopped the momentum of his sword however as the blade had continued to cleave into the rock-like bodies of the opposing Trolls- Trolls who screamed and howled just as defiantly in the field of battle. Yet even as Kal-El fought with all the strength he had, something didn’t feel right. He had fought Trolls like this before, and Trolls fought with honor, just as the soldiers of Metropolis. But this… as his men continued to battle on all sides… even as more of the soldiers fell to the floor of the spring lands… there was no honor in this fight. The Trolls fought for something else- as though courage was all that fueled them this day.

Sir Perry’s arms spiraled about his robust body as he directed the archers to notch their bows. The bows were not the man and a half bows of the Star Citadel, nor were they the composite long bows that the troops of Gotham used. Instead, like most of the things in Metropolis they were used for short distances. By and far the Metropolis Army was designed to go in and hit fast and hard. Of the battles they had waged, very few lasted more that a couple hours. Either they fell completely slaughtered or they won in their quick stratagem. The archers and the pole-men that now stood in two u-shaped lines showed just how close they fought. In the military mind of the Metropolis warriors, the concept was simple. The closer the defensive wall was the further the enemy is away from the heart. It was more so now, as every man and woman who stood readied with a blade or shaft was there prepared to die. They were ready to fight with every breath they had to insure that the Trollic army did not make it to Metropolis. At this stand they would attack, and they would defend to the last.

“Round two fire!” Perry shouted over the clanking of blades in the distance. Each of the archers let go of their arrows. The twang of the bow strings was almost unison as forty arrows launched into the sky. “Don’t bother to look! Reload!” Perry spat at the archer line. Each one bent their arms back as commanded and notched another arrow readied for the next rounds assault. Perry knew that Kal-El was one of the finest soldiers in Metropolis. His success in battle was bested by only one man- Count Lutkar, and he had quickly gained on the Count’s five hundred and sixteen victories.

Perry raised his arms up, again the muscle bound limbs burning with anticipation, as his eyes surveyed each one in the defensive line. Moments of wondering beckoned the old soldier, thoughts of when the next Troll was going to break the offensive circle to be impaled by the pole arms. It was quite strange to him that they had not rallied at all towards the archers. Usually when fighting Trolls they would decimate all resistance, like a hordes march. But this was different. Only two Trolls had even come anywhere near his line, and they were thrown from the fight by the forces within.

Suddenly, a trample of hooves caught Perry off guard. His arms lowered as the arrows swiftly took the sky. He looked to his left as the white stallion came to a trot; as it neared the defensive lines of men. Perry’s face tightened as he saw the white horse stop just in front of him, calling out in a strong neigh. “Krypto! I guess that means this could be it. If Kal-El left you behind it must be serious,” the soldier said to the horse, a metal gauntlet rising to pet the steed’s neck. “Be ready men, with all the courage of the Lores, and get ready another round!” He said finally, his deep eyes looking at the large black eyes of Krypto. “Cause by the Raktor Lords… we’re gonna need all the courage we can muster.”

The sound of metal clanked across solid rock, caused Kal-El’s hands to vibrate, the rejected force sent his boots skidding across the dead and soil. He bent down and let his shield stop him, as he knew it would not have been his own means. Around him the battle raged on. Only twenty of his best men now remained, a modest yet almost dire moment in his life. Some how… Kal-El felt the inner strength, much more than he had ever felt it before. The great feeling of adrenaline and exhaustion, his hand went to his eyes and face scraping away blood and gunk that sat on either cheek, his blue eyes slowly crawled up the form that stood a few steps from him. The Troll stared back at the warrior with a fire in his eyes, his hands tensed about a club, his thick body filled with pointed rock glittering about the surface.

“Nice left hook.” Kal-El smiled as he pulled himself back to his full height. His eyes not leaving those of his opponent, a burn of fatigue and injury made him in no rush.

“There will be much honor in killing you. I see that now,” the large Troll spat.

“So, all this is your doing? You united the Trollic forces, and you speak Common. No wonder they call you Doomsday. Trust me, I read the stories; if you are half as tough as he was, this will be quite a victory.”

“I AM DOOMSDAY!” the Troll snapped, the large eyes that burned like coals flaring across his grey face. Scraps of graying hair tossed across magnificent shoulders as the creature lunged at the Prince.

“Yet hopefully not mine,” Kal-El spat, his body tossed to the side as the large club impacted the ground. Kal- El watched as one of his men used the sudden crash to his advantage impaling a Troll in the throat. Shaking his head he let a smile craft over his lips.

“Do not underestimate the glory of Darkseid!” The creature howled, his club being pulled back up from the crater.

“Darkseid, is that what all this is about? You honestly think a dead bastard from a score of years gone past is going to suddenly gather up his troops once again?” Kal-El spat back at the Troll. The Troll growled, his hands clenched even harder on the club as he lunged at the Prince once more. The Prince tried to move but the larger Troll was faster, the wooden club connecting with his jaw. The Prince sent out a groan as his body left the ground, two of his teeth shattering on impact. His body launched through the wall of Trolls before falling on the warm moss.

Kal-El shook his head as he tried to right himself over the soft ground. Just as he had managed to get his eyes open he could see the wall of the Trolls splatter open with anger. Green and brown bodies were being cast to the side as the hulking creature stepped from the ring. Doomsday didn’t stop to check on his men, his large ink black eyes stayed focused on the human who was now pulling himself from the ground. “Darkseid will reward me greatly for getting rid of you, Kal-El,” Doomsday spat, his large foot thrusting forward and smashed into the Prince’s face, which sent him rolling in a jet of blood.

Kal- El came to a stop as his bloody fingers plunged into the earth. “You’re mistaken,” Kal- El hissed, a glob of blood dripping from his now swollen lips. “Only one person has anything to do with Darkseid, and it isn’t you or me…”

“Who said this had to do with his resurrection? This is just a favor. Even if I am enjoying it very much!” The large troll swung his club forward with enough momentum for the timber to give off a high pitched scream in the air. Kal-El grunted as he rolled to the side, the club crashing into the earth strewing mud and grass. “You have no chance, why not give in to the inevitable?”

Kal-El grimaced as crawled to his feet. His face masked with blood, his stomach burning from the impacts he’d taken. He took in a few gulps of air trying to regain his strength. His body felt like it was about to fall apart at any moment. He needed to find his sword. In the distance he could hear the heavy footfalls of his opponent. The dark night combined with the arrows, rocks and debris left in the air caused it hard to see anything. He began to walk forward his footfalls sinking into the dirt. When suddenly heard the whistle of a club behind him. His body spun bending back barely missing the club. Kal El gained his footing as the Troll retracted the club. Without thinking he lunged at the Troll, his fists bared, screaming at the top of his lungs.

His shoulder hit the rock hard body of the Troll, denting the shoulder plate of his armor. He brought both of his hands up striking the body and stomach of the Troll. The first few punches hurt as the metal gauntlets shattered against the rock hard body of the creature. The shear weight knocked the Troll back, in stride. “YOU WILL NOT DEFEAT ME!” Kal-El screamed, his knuckles busting open as he continued to batter the body of the Trollic Warlord. Stains of gore matted over the Troll as he continued to be impacted. Mostly from being caught unaware than being quite so moveable.

Kal-El felt the impact of the ground hard. His body being thrown over the shoulder of Doomsday, even as the goliath Troll hit the ground. His eyes were swollen and blurry as he brought his head up. In the distance he could see the shimmering handle of his sword in the ground. He brought his knuckles up in the dirt as he lifted his body off the ground. Doomsday growled from behind him, the sound of grating rock scratched in the Prince’s ears as the Troll stood up. “Much honor in this battle,” the Troll spoke. “BUT ENDS NOW!” The Troll brought his enormous hands down onto the back of Kal-El; his armor folding in and shattering due to impact.

Kal-El howled in pain as his body was slammed hard into the dirt, his left shoulder grinding into his neck. The Prince felt the numbing pain that wracked over his body as he closed his eyes. “Superman… you are a superman...” the voices chanted in his ears… “Metropolis depends on you…” the voice beckoned in his ears. He bit his swollen lips as he pulled himself up again, his body burning as he crawled towards the handle of his sword. Franticly trying to reach it… as though everything depended on his retrieving it... and in many ways it did.

“It’s FUTILE!” Doomsday screamed as he slammed his foot into the Prince’s side. Ribs shattered on impact as the ductile and weak body of the Prince rolled across the ground. As he stopped, his broken body sprawled out exhausted and beaten; he tried to lift his head up. The sword lay only a few inches away from his position. Growling he pulled his body up again. With his only operating arm, the injuries stung, his head throbbing, trying to stay conscious. Pulling. He could feel it... feel the need… to get up one last time. It was as he righted himself a flurry of arrows suddenly swooped in from the distance ricocheting off the rock hard body of the Troll. Doomsday turned his head to see the archers only twenty feet away. “You will die! All of you!”

Kal-El saw the sudden change of attention and with the remaining strength he had he bent forward with his right arm, his arm throbbing as his fingers circled around the cold handle. With all the might he had he lifted the sword from the soft earth, the blade shimmering as the mud fell from its metallic finish. “Not today...” Kal- El spat, his broken ribs grated across his hips as he swung the large blade forward with all his might. The blade bit through the air with an incredible force, the sword screaming as it impacted the neck of the Warlord. The blade cut through the tough rock-like skin in amazing percussion. The head cleanly cleft in the momentary strike.

Blood poured from the shoulders as the torso crumbled and fell forward the head falling softer in the grass. The Prince’s weight ended as well, his knees folded as he landed forward in the grass the sword plunging into the soil. Cheers from the defensive lines embarked over his form momentarily as he closed his eyes.

Kal-El stayed there silently his heart beat racing, tears rolling down his cheeks. Yet even as he felt the flush of victory cater over him a sudden crackle of energy enveloped him. His body was consumed in a reddish glow. And within the blink of an eye he faded into nothingness…

Sir Perry the White had seen the entire fight. Everything he had just witnessed seemed unbelievable, even in his lifetime. He’d seen magic ignite fields, Golems arise from stone… yet nothing like his own Prince, a boy he raised in a fight with a legendary Warlord… Not only that, but decapitating one right there. Yet now as he had just seen Kal-El suddenly combust into energy and disappear he was at a loss for words. He just stood there watching the scorched ground for moments forgetting a battle was still going on.

Sir James put a hand on Perry’s shoulder as he stood next to the weathered soldier. “Guess he’s in Fate’s hands now,” James said in a grim tone.