angellic host dream
I was a member of a group of holy knights protecting a kingdom, named the Angellic Host. At first, we had been a lowly band of warriors known as the Hawks, but through providence and hard work we rose from our common origins to this exhalted place. The other members of the Angels had faces vaguely recalled from everywhere in my life—classmates from the physics department, members of the fencing club, friends from unrelated circles—and we all specialized in different talents. Many of them were much more varied than just wielding the sword, which is part of what made us such a formidable force both in battle and while handling other duties such as guarding and investigating.
The crown of our host, though, the reason we could really shine, was our leader: the Archangel. She was a strong-willed woman, strict but kind, a perfect knight in shining armor astride a white horse. She had long blonde hair braided down her back, flowing from under a simple but graceful helm with little ornamentation. Her face had sharp and beautiful features with piercing blue eyes. A red cape swirled around her elegant silver armour. On her left middle finger she wore a ring that symbolized her position, wide silver with a large ruby set into it. The other symbol of her authority she wore was her sword: a beautiful saber with a basket hilt composed of what looked like mythril chain so dense as to be solid and rigid. Both the hilt and sheathe where white with gold highlights.
At the start of the dream, the land was in turmoil. It was early winter, just after Christmas but before the turn of the new year, and extremely cold. The Angels lived in the royal castle, and the stone walls did little to keep out the cold. A war approached us, a tide of darkness, something not of the world of men. All of us knew it was our duty, as the Angellic Host, to protect the people from it. Every day we went out into the city, stopping crimes, keeping order, and distributing supplies from the castle to support the people. Despite our efforts, though, every day things just seemed to get worse. A malaise was descending over the city making everyone more desperate and hopeless, including us.
On the night before the start of the new year, a calamity befell us. Our leader, the one holding the ring and sword of the Archangel, had vanished in the night. All her equipment remained—it was like she had been spirited away while we slept. Without her, we were thrown into disarray, and in the midst of it, the enemy appeared over the horizon. An enourmous army marched towards our gates, the forces of Hell come to destroy us. We had had our morale beaten down for months and on the eve of battle, lost the foundation of our Host, and now this black army approached. In this situation, it would be all to easy for us to die scattered and with little resistance.
Sensing what would become of us if no one took action, I took up the ring and sword. Although I knew I could not match the charisma and tactical genius of our Archangel, what the Host needed was someone to lead them. Even without her, we were still nothing less than the strongest fighting force in the land, and I took it up as my duty to the Archangel to lead them in her stead.
The Angellic Host formed up outside the castle with the regular army and prepared for the battle to end all battles. It was still dark, but the light of the moon provided enough light to see the surrounding land by. The tide of enemies that flowed over the horizon seemed endless, and as they got closer, a shadowy mist approached with them. Within the mist, scattered fires bobbed, and around them strange and inhuman figures writhed, barely organized enough to call an army. The regular soldiers quailed in the face of them, and the Host rode through the ranks rallying our forces and calling for them not to back down, for there was nowhere to flee to. We fought here, and we either won or died.
A moment of calm descended as the incoming tide became a stream, then a trickle, and finally we could behold the whole enemy army. It was difficult to comprehend their size. The mist concealed them, but they must have been thousands, maybe tens of thousands strong. The sole hope we had was that they had no order or formation to speak of. In that, at least, we were superior.
A cold wind blew across the fields surrounding the city. The sky was just beginning to grey with the approach of dawn. Our defenses were as prepared as they could be, and now we waited on edge, the rows of spears quivering as their wielders shook with the cold and fear that laid thick over the battlefield. Then, with a resounding roar, the enemy charged, and the battle begun.
It hardly felt like a true battle. There was no grand contest of strategy and wits. Axes and spears rose and fell in a cacophany of metallic clangs. Our army butchered monster after monster, but for each one that fell, another immediately surged forward to take its place. Though we killed hundreds, they continued to press in. Step by step, we were forced back towards the gates.
Among the countless smaller demons, there were some giants that no ordinary spear could pierce the hide of, and they brought carnage in their wake. Centipedes the size of seige weapons with mandibles as sharp as blades, elephantine beasts that trampled soldiers like grass, each of these monsters carved dents into our army where they appeared. It was these giants that we, the Angellic Host, rode out to meet.
We were the elite, with weapons well-suited to the task of slaying these creatures. Each one fought differently and required a different approach, but the Host was full of versatile fighters. Time after time, we brought down these huge foes, and each one raised a cheer from the surrounding army. Though we were losing ground, we were costing our enemy dearly for every foot of soil.
The sky lightened, the sun approached, but their numbers were too great. Thousands of demons fell, but thousands more stepped over them to keep up the fight. Though our army fought valliantly, we were running out of stamina and ground to retreat to. As commander of the Angellic Host, I was torn between standing and fighting as we had been, and making the call to retreat to the castle.
Then, atop a hill to the east, a horn sounded clearly across the battlefield. Day broke, and a wave of cavalry surged over the hill and cleaved into the enemy. Our army, seeing the tide of battle turn, fought with renewed vigor. Inch by inch, we reclaimed ground, and the newly arrived army carved gouges into their rear. Their numbers dwindled, and finally there were few enough that the remaining demons scattered and fled. We watched them go, battered and bloody, but victorious.
Then, the leader of the cavalry that had saved us appeared. It was the Archangel, heavily injured, but alive. I, along with the other core members of the Host, broke into a run and threw our arms around her. Later, we could find out what had happened, but for now we were just glad that we’d lived to see each other again.
We returned to the castle in a victorious procession, and in every window, the people cheered and waved flags. The bright blue sky itself seemed to congratulate us. When we finally reached the castle, the matters of tending to the wounded and managing equipment fell to others, and the core members of the Host were finally alone with the Archangel.
I removed the ring and sword, and offered them to her. She thanked me and took the ring, placing it once again upon her finger. Then, she curled my hands over the sword, and told me to keep it. I could scarcely believe my ears. This sword was the very symbol of the leader of the Angellic Host. But from the proud look in her sky-blue eyes, I could tell I had earned it and the respect it commanded. Pride welling up in my own heart, I buckled it on, and through a smile I couldn’t contain, I swore to live up to the honour.
I looked away across the city, shining in the rising sun, and with that the dream dissolved and I woke up.
3 November 2022