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Bodies in the fields of snow. Cold death everywhere. And a commander who never finished the battle. All these dead men lay in the mounds of a white pillow of snow. A sea of blood and screams was there days before as men fell and men rose. One army dead, one army to move on, and Angel, lifeless as if a shadow in the blizzard. The Demons moved on from the forsaken battlefield leaving only small numbers who fell behind. Villages were burned and bodies turned to ash as the army flew threw the kingdom. Thousands of screams were spawned into the air but nobody there to hear them. Snow covered the fire and bodies in the small village. The next victims would be the Kingdom's Capitol and it stood not a chance. Only small armed forces were there standing gaurd as they saw an army over the mountain that surrounded the castle. Fear filled the worried faces as they watched in horror an army so evil that Hell itself spit them back out of it's jaws. They grasped their swords and spears and prepared for battle. Men loaded the catapults and grasped their bows and arrows. Their only commander had been destroyed in a battle that none lived to tell the tale. Battle was coming...