Antonius stalked the alley. A child's sobbing echoed from wall to wall; becoming louder, trembling the tiles beneath his feet. The sun had dissipated, shrouding the scene in darkness. White fog was pouring up from the ground, and to the wizard, it seemed things were growing more surreal by the second. He had it in him, to end the Emperor's Bane, he was certain of this. He felt no vast ocean of power - there was nothing preparing to consume him. He was being shown Rinack's start in life, or perhaps, the start of his troubles. A wizard, Antonius was curious by nature, and decided that he wanted very much to see what had ultimately damaged his homeland so severely. 

The shadows at the far end of the alley cleared as he approached, and there he saw the lifeless body of a pregnant woman. A shabby man, swaying with drink, stood over her. Hunched on the ground, cradling the woman's head, was a boy - perhaps twelve or thirteen winters - and despite everything being an illusion, Antonius could sense a great power in those hateful eyes. 

"I grow impatient," the wizard said, eyeing the scene with irritation. "Show me what you mean to show me, or I will end you." 

Antonius, ever carrying the youthful visage of a handsome thirty-something male of princely qualities, had dropped his disguise. With a hunched back, his face appeared heavily aged and shaggy with innumerable wrinkles. Great bushy grey eye brows inclined to form a gnarled frown, and his toothless mouth twisted in anger. 

"Show me, Emporer's Bane, show me why it is many thousands died cursing your name," he rasped. 

-------------------------------------------

The Magnus had vanished. Erich was unsure if this was good or bad, but did not stop to ponder. The left flank was buckling under the tremendous weight of thousands, and he needed to prop it up like he needed to win this battle. He galloped at full speed, pursued by his flustered praetorians, until he arrived at the rear of the left-most centuries. Men were screaming, as their savage enemy tore into the shield wall and dealt death and destruction with the wide arcs of their oversized weapons. Bones crunched and organs exploded; priests and physicians carried out the wounded, but the dead were left to form the mattress of battle. 

Positioning himself at the head of the reserves on the second line, he ordered them forwards. They advanced in organised pace, and blended effortlessly with the besieged flank. Whistles sounded, horns blasted, and through a miraculous manoeuvre worthy of an Imperial Legion, the soldiers of the first line slithered through the reinforcements and began a brief march to the rear of the battle. There they would rest, ready to renew the onslaught.

The line straightened, and then advanced. With renewed vigour, the Imperial left flank pushed back its enemy, threatening to envelope the centre mass.