Clip-clop
Clip-clop
Clatter-clatter
The red Crimson Dawn Horse trudged heavily onward, its fiery-red hooves lifting and falling, striking the black earth and leftover ice again and again. It looked like clusters of red flames dancing lightly across the wasteland—or like the ghost fires dreaded by the people of Shenzhou, wandering and darting through the darkness.
The warhorses were silent, and the riders upon them made no sound either.
They advanced in silence. Thousands of warhorses somehow ran in the exact same rhythm—majestic and solemn, heavy and murderous.
"Stop."
The leading officer pulled hard on his reins and raised a hand in a stopping gesture.
Creak—
The thousands of Crimson Dawn Horses halted where they stood, as though someone had cast a spell that froze them in place.
The thousands of riders sat astride their mounts, staring in shock at the strange scene in the sky.
It was like a mischievous child who knew nothing of the art of painting, brush in hand, smearing ink at random across the black sky. Red and green, a riot of colors. The places that should have been white were not white, and those that should have been black were not black. Deep purple had been used where blue-green belonged, and tangerine-orange where gold-yellow should have gone.
It was a completely amateurish painting, which, after being finished, had accidentally fallen to the ground and been trampled a hundred times by a surging crowd.
Clusters of wild fire still burned—sparse, chaotic, without order, blazing here and flickering there as they spread toward farther reaches.
The clouds, the air, everything in the sky—everything was fuel for their flames.
"General, what happened here?" A man in red heavy armor rode over and glanced sideways at the Jade-Faced General, Song Lang.
Song Lang gazed at the sky filled with