• No matter how man years he spent amongst the sands, he found that he could never quite get used to it. Sand, Sand, it was everywhere on this accursed planet. It was a cause of great annoyance to him and a danger as well. The planet was widely known as its designation RD-172. Some of the nomadic tribes who walked the planets sands gave the planet a name such as the Monu’Dau’varu… or The Great Sand Dune in the local language. But others called it Hell, they were the ones who had either been trapped here because of unfortunate circumstances, or imprisoned here in one of the planet’s correctional facilities.
    The Life on RD-172 wasn’t a particularly fun one to begin with. Daytime temperatures of up to 140*F and nightly temperatures of as low as -5*F. The endless sand dunes were only broken by large rocks which jutted out of the landscape like sticks from a child’s sand box. The surface of the world was completely barren, no sign of life. In truth, nothing was naturally capable to live in such a cruel environment. All of the life of the planet was located underground, in a planet-wide series of natural catacombs created by the planet’s underground water supply. Due to this fact, the planet’s animal life has adapted to life in total darkness. Most of the creatures in the ecosystem are harmless rodents or plant-animal hybrids which range from fern snails to Toothed Hydrae. But many of the creatures are bloodthirsty predators, which thrive on the rodents, plants, and even the foolish human traveler.
    Perhaps saying that there is no life on the surface is going too far. No, the desert nights don’t only carry the howling of the sands on the winds. Something ancient and sinister plagues the surface. An untamed beast which needs to be silenced. For hundreds of years, thousands of armies tried to quell the primal evil in the deserts, only to run in terror or be killed without remorse. Eventually the dwellers of the planet learned to travel the surface sparingly, and to stick to the planetary outposts found in numerous parts of the world, hidden in the planet catacombs. But eventually the planet was “liberated” into the hands of another government who decided it was time for the beast of the desert to die… and they dispatched a special operations force into the desert to stop the madness.
    Joen trudged along the worn, desert path, the wind blowing, singing him a dirge in the warm, dry air. The air kissed at his exposed neck and face, blowing his grown out hair around. Sand crusted his unshaven face, and dried blood caked his goatee. It had been a long three weeks for him. His light armor, comprised of leather wrappings covered by thin plastitanium metallic plates on his arms and legs. His Metallic breastplate had numerous scratches and dents, as well as large holes which appeared to be melted out from the plating. He looked like he had just stepped our of a battlefield when in truth, he hadn’t seen combat in 44 hours. Behind him walked five hundred of the best men he had ever known (marching in line formation, ten men by fifty men), men who had been to hell and back, then laughed about it afterwards. They were the men of the ARB 1st company, known as the Commandos and they looked as poorly as he did. Some sported even greater wounds than he did. But the greatest part of their appearance was the pride in their steps and the mad glint in their eyes. Joen smiled back at the men marching through the desert, never issuing a complaint or questioning his leadership. They had seen Joen in combat before, and he had earned their respect over and over again. None of them even bothered to warn the young commander that they were in Daemon country, and that they were marching through a canyon, a perfect spot for an ambush. Perhaps they were foolish or had no clue for themselves…. but nothing could stop what happened next.
    This never dawned on him until his foot nudged something in the dirt. He paused for a moment to see a simple object half buried in the sand, a dark painted eye staring at him from a simple white plate was enough to send chills up his spine. He rose his voice but a sharp spearhead shot out of the sand and ran him clean through his midsection. He watched as the small mask rose from the sand bringing a dark cape behind it, and before his eyes arms, legs, and a torso simply formed from the sand. Joen gathered the energy to raise his foot and stomp on the mask, shattering it. The men who had watched the whole thing took a step back and screamed, ‘ MASKS!!!!!” Then entire first line behind him were caught off guard as dozens of masks shot from the ground and brutally stabbed or beat them to death before they could raise their weapons.
    Joen Raised up His Magnum and let off a few shots and everyone was in arms. Around the entire group of men hundreds of masks leapt from the sand, stabbing, screaming, and causing chaos within his lines. Joen’s men completely wiped them out in a moment, but Joen, who was now cut off from his men by a small horde of masks, was fighting for his life. Just as the men turned their weapons to protect their leader, demonic trumpets wailed and thousands of masks crowded around them atop the canyon. The apparent leader of the Masks towered above them at about 25 feet tall, and howled so loudly and ferociously that many of the battle hardened men soiled themselves. The monster swung it’s large weapon, a scythe, and the endless sea of masks barreled down the canyon at the men. Joen watched out of the corner of his eye as all of the men at his command opened fire upon the creatures, killing hundreds as they leapt from cliffs and charged down sand dunes. But deep down in his heart, he knew they were pretty much screwed… Eventually the masks would reach his men, or his men would run out of ammunition and resort to hand-to-hand, which would be messy. Joen was the only man who truly excelled at close combat, brandishing his short sword and dagger and dropping masks with single stabs and slashes. Joen cut off a leg of a mask, but it simply reformed and the mask jumped up and slashed at him with a scimitar. This would either be Joen’s Greatest victory, or his most humiliating defeat.
    Joen fought like the Demon his reputation granted made him out to be. Despite the great pain In his stomach and the numerous stabs and slices he was receiving from all around him, he still fought on, slicing and gunning down anything that got too close to him. Warnings flashed on his right eye visor telling him that he was suffering from internal bleeding and that his blood levels were dropping rapidly, but his adrenaline was pumping so hard that all he could see were the masks separating him from his men, and him from the Mask Leader who stood still on the canyon wall as a never ending wave of demonic masks poured down upon his men.
    To all that were watching Joen, they could never expected him to be fighting in such a way. He was only Twenty-four years old, and looked like he should be in a cadet’s armor rather than a commander’s. But he had something that the other soldiers didn’t, years upon years of personal combat drilling from his days among his tribe The Amouni. A Mask leapt forward swinging a large hammer down towards Joen, but Joen quickly leapt to the side and answered the attack with two shots from his magnum, blowing the mask’s head clean off of its shoulders then shattering it in midair. Joen howled in laughter before turning around to catch a spear in his right eye.
    Joen hit the ground hard, and everything went black for a few moments. One of the soldiers who had been trying to fight his way to the commander saw what happened and completely lost it. He ran away from the closed ranks of men and into a maelstrom of dark cloaks and deadly weapons. Masks tried to stop him, but he could not be stopped. This man was Joen’s right hand man, Derike Maestra. Derike had a special hatred for masks as he had seen his entire family and nomadic tribe slaughtered by them. And seeing his greatest friend and commander felled by a spear made something within him snap, and he went berserk. The weapon in his hand seemed to meld with his body while he rifle-butted, and shot every single mask foolish enough to get in his way. About a dozen men followed after Derike, inspired by his bravado, and surrounded Joen and Derike in a defensive line, covering Derike as he tended to their fallen commander.
    “Joen You fool! Don’t die on us now!!!” Derike roared ad he checked the spear wound. He noticed the spear didn’t seem to go past the eye, rather it was embedded IN the eye. Derike cocked an eyebrow and Joen opened his left eye.
    “ Get your hands off me you dirty rat… He missed my REAL eye…” Joen reached up and grabbed the spear, then ripped it out of his eye socket. What was left was a metallic ball in his eye socket which was now dented and broken. “ Ok men, we need to kill the leader, once we do… the masks might stop coming at us… or at least retreat to regroup and pick a new leader…” One of the soldiers jerked and fell to the sand, his head cleanly cut off. The two men next to him fell over as well, clutching their necks which were pouring pints of blood by the second… they wouldn’t live. Joen jumped to his feet and covered the open gap, then screamed, “ Squads Gamma, Theta, and Chi, Charge!!!” Joen broke into a adrenaline-giddy sprint towards the canyon wall. About fifty men emerged from the closed ranks of men and followed their absolutely insane leader.
    The group ran up the canyon banks, Masks falling down before them, cut down by their own blades, or from the guns from the men in the lower part of the canyon. A few men fell to makeshift spears and javelins, but they made it up the hill. Joen’s eyes never left the leader of the masks, it was all he was focusing upon. Kill the leader, defeat the enemy. Kill the leader, kill him, kill!!!! The small entourage of men clashed with the leader’s tough looking personal guards, eight foot tall masks carrying sickening double bladed axes. Screams filled the air, men were cut in two by single sweeps of axes, and masks fell to gunfire and sword. Joen was almost cut down as well but one of the men sacrificed himself by pushing him away, and took an axe to the back. Joen immediately avenged his young savior before making another mad dash towards the leader.
    The men still in the canyon noticed that the three squads who followed Joen up the hill were on the verge of death and one men cried out, “ The commander is in trouble!!! For the ARB and Joen, Chaaarge!!!” All of the surviving men brandished their bayonets and dashed up the hill, their war cries audible for miles away. Hundreds of masks Rose from the sand at the top of the canyon and barreled down the canyon to meet the Commandos three-fourths of the way up the hill. the first wave of masks were ripped to shreds by the sheer ferocity of the ARB commandos, but a second and third wave slowed their momentum until they were at a standstill, fighting for every bloody inch on the way up to the top.
    Joen roared in defiance at the giant mask before him. The Mask swung his Scythe threateningly, and not one mask took one step towards Joen, obviously the leader wanted to claim Joen for his own. Joen had no logic to his attack, no plan, he simply ran at the monster with his sword raised high and his magnum blazing. The Monster swung at Joen, but out of sheer luck Joen Tripped and fell under the scythe and narrowly missed being rend asunder. Joen regained his footing And Jumped at the creature. He plunged his sword into the monster’s flesh, but he was only able to reach up to the creature’s shin. The monster howled, more in anger than in pain. It snatched Joen up in its free hand. Joen screamed in agony as ribs cracked and both of his legs were crushed. Joen was done for. The monster held Joen above its head as if he were a trophy, and Joen looked back to see as the numbers of his men thinned… in their zeal they had charged up the hill, leaving their relatively safe position, and even leaving their backs exposed. They fell by the dozen to the Masks until Joen could see no more fighting. SEE HOW THEY DIE!!!! YOU FAILED HUMAN!!! The monster screamed into Joen’s mind. Joen stared back into the monster’s eyes,
    “ You monster… We NEVER FAIL!!!” Joen’s left eye lit up to a fiery vibrant green and the eye socket to his missing right eye flared up as well. The entire canyon shook violently and Joen’s screams of pain turned to screams of anger and hate. Joen unleashed a wave of power unlike no other the creatures had ever felt. Joen laughed maniacally and explained, “ I am the Prophet of AMOU you unholy monsters!!! Fall before his power!!!” Joen’s body was wrenched from the demon’s grip as if snatched away and the monster fell to its knees before simply dissolving into dust. The remaining masks in the canyon and around the canyon saw and felt it coming, but could do nothing as they were swept up in a holy wave and turned into dust which the wind scattered about.
    Joen hit the ground in a heap of broken limbs and blood, surrounded by the bodies of his men, both dead and dying. But luckily a few of the men had not fallen in the combat, and they had witnessed the entire thing. The survivors called in for backup and tended to the wounded they could save. In total… four hundred and fifty-seven of the men died and the survivors were all wounded in some way. Joen was given medical attention just in time to save his life, and although the next years of his life would be spent in rehabilitation, he had a newfound hope that these creatures of the desert would be the ones who could provide him with a true warriors death someday in the future. Joen and his men had only defeated a single group of these monsters.. It was estimated that over a million of these creature roamed the surface of the desert, which meant Joen’s Campaign wasn’t nearly over, rather, it was the first battle of Hundreds he would be forced to fight.