[ WP ] For miles around lay the fresh waste of a million-strong invading army . At its center , a frowning man brushed off detritus from his impeccable tuxedo impatiently .

It worked. By all the gods, somehow it had worked. 
 
 Dunstan gazed wearily from the precipice of the crumbling tower. Empty, battered armor and sharpened steel lay in all directions, robbed of their purpose and the promises of soft flesh to tear through. A bitter wind gnawed on the empty battlefield, not a drop of blood or scrap of flesh stained the land other than his own, and that of the figure rising from the thickest hill of plate and chain mail. Even dear, sweet Roman who until a moment ago had been bleeding out in Dunstan's arms, was no more but his empty robes. 
 
 To call it an invasion would have been a cruel joke. The northern forces had outnumbered the small watchtower many thousands to one. It had n't been a question of if the tower would fall, but how many minutes they could buy until it did, and if they would be tortured before they died. They were, in many cases literally, already dead. Dunstan had n't had any other choice... 
 
 `` You are he who summoned me then?'' growled a voice like the grinding wheels of a trebuchet. It had n't been a question, so much as an acknowledgement. 
 
 Dunstan swiveled his head, meekly fixing his gaze on the statuesque figure, now joining him at the top of the tower. His pristine, white suit was of a cut that the mage had never seen. A god, one whose true name had been lost to the ages, one of war and commerce, loomed above him. His fierce visage blocked out the sun like a thunderstorm. Dunstan nodded meekly. Much of his own blood had been lost in the exchange, but compared to the thousands now gone, he could hardly allow himself to complain. `` What do I call you?'' he asked, rising to his feet. 
 
 The man-beast grasped the empty robes at Dunstan's feet, as though reading something in its very threading. `` You may call me Roman,'' he sneered. His teeth were like ivory, and so sharp that even gazing at the edge of them felt like a paper-cut on Dunstan's eyes. `` Now... where is my war I'd been promised?'' 
 
 `` There is n't any. You ended it... Roman.'' The mage winced at the desecration of his best friend and comrade's name, `` We were but a small fort, made an example of with the sheer number of the northern bandits' forces. I paid the price of summoning you with the flesh, blood and bone of the entire battlefield. We won. The northern bandits are no more. You may leave now, Roman. You have my thanks.'' 
 
 Dunstan had expected the god's smirk to fall, to twist into a scowl, but it only broadened, showing yet more rows of sharpened teeth. 
 
 `` Oh no, no, my little wizard friend. That's not how this works,'' Roman cackled, his laugh like the delighted caw of a thousand battlefield crows, `` There will be war. I will not leave until I have my war. I will drink my fill of blood, soldier and peasant alike. I will feast upon a generation yet. And you, you my wizardly friend, will guzzle deeply upon the glory of the victorious general. Such is the contract, and so it shall be.'' 
 
 Panic willed Dunstan's broken body into alertness. He filled with a manic energy only the truly terrified ever know. `` N-No!'' he protested, `` We ca n't! The northern bandits are no more. We took their lord, he lays amongst the sacrificed. There is no more war to be had here!'' Dunstan reached to grasp Roman's lapel, to gain some kind of hold on the god, but his fingertips snatched only at air. 
 
 Another cackle shook the battered tower. `` No more war? My foolish friend, surely you jest. Have they no homeland? Have they no allies? Have they no family? If there is truly no more war to be had, worry not, wizard. War is easily made.'' 
 
 From every seam in Roman's spotless white tuxedo, dark, stale blood poured, staining his suit nearly jet black if not for the gleam of crimson. The poisoned blood etched the cracks in the stone floor, flowing like a fountain down the tower, seeping into the torn landscape below. It pooled in the armor of the fallen, filling each slowly. In every direction, armor rose, suits filling with the new flesh of faceless figures. The sound of marching echoed through the hills as the strangers departed in every direction. 
 
 `` W-What are those things? Where are they going?'' Dunstan again tried to grasp the god's suit, his hands staining with the thick, sludge-like blood. `` Answer me, Roman!'' he cried in desperation. 
 
 `` Those? Assassins. Saboteurs. Warlords. Politicians.'Misunderstandings' taken just a bit too far. Anyone who might be in just the wrong place at just the wrong time. Heroes. Villains. There are so many ways to start a war. Almost any excuse will do, really.'' Roman smiled. He looked upon the departing beasts as a doting mother might. `` Many will return with armies for you to lead, as I promised you.'' 
 
 `` Why? Why must this happen, Roman? The price was paid already! Please, by the gods, leave this place and let the horrors end, unfathomable as they already are. Must I pay more, that you might leave? Must I throw myself from this tower to pay your toll?'' 
 
 Roman wrapped an arm around Dunstan as solid as stone, the thick blood rolling down his robes, bloodying them as badly as the previous ‘ Roman ’ had. `` You thought the soldiers were my toll? Most of them were n't even yours to give, friend. No, no, war is the price that must be paid. This is why the world tried to forget me, why my true name was lost. Throw yourself, if you so wish. You may even find some courage in your plummet, but you will not find death. Dunstan, my friend, you will pay me my war, and in return I will garb you in riches and glory bought in blood. Such is the contract, so it shall be.'' 

