Battlefield groaned under the weight of the dead and dying. Thick, dark blood clung to the soil like spilled ink on parchment, staining the ground red that stretched as far as the eye could see. The air reeked of metal and rotting flesh, and death and smoke from distant fires curled upward into the ashen sky, blotting out what little light remained. Ravens circled overhead, their harsh cries cutting through the eerie silence between clashes of steel, waiting for their feast.
Beneath this torment, a man stood still for a moment. His crimson eyes were fierce, and despite the fatigue clinging to him, they scanned the scene ahead—the last remnants of a once-great battle. His black armor, once pristine, now hung heavy on his frame, each dent and scratch a testament to the battles that had led to this moment. His breath rasped in his throat, burning with every inhale. Blood trickled down his face, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand, pretending not to notice how his fingers trembled.
Beside him stood a woman, her face pale beneath streaks of dirt and blood, barely holding herself upright. Her golden hair, matted with sweat and grime, hung limp against her light silver plate armor, which had long since lost its gleam. Yet her eyes—those sharp blue eyes—still blazed with determination, the kind that made her impossible to break. She was standing, though swaying slightly, her sword clutched in white-knuckled hands, the blade's tip wavering ever so slightly as she fought to keep it raised.
"Your hands are shaking," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
The man tightened his grip on his sword. "So are yours."
A ghost of a smile touched her lips, though it didn't reach her eyes. "At least we're consistent."
Across the battlefield, a tall humanoid figure loomed, appearing imposing and monstrous. It moved with deliberate slowness, dragging its massive sword through the dirt, the blade carving furrows in the blood-soaked ground. Its broad shoulders were encased in heavy obsidian armor that gleamed in the dying light. Only its glowing amethyst eyes were visible through the helm's visor—twin points of malicious energy that seemed to bore into them like a curse.
The figure was in no hurry. It knew it had them firmly in its grasp. The air grew colder as it approached, with shadows writhing and dancing at its feet like living things. Even the ravens above fell silent, as if nature itself recoiled from its presence.
"Einar…" the woman's voice was barely above a whisper, ragged from exhaustion. Her fingers brushed against his arm, seeking only warmth on the battlefield. "He's… he's too strong."
Einar clenched his jaw, his eyes never leaving the figure. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, the weight of it familiar yet suddenly foreign in his grasp. His mind was calculating constantly, thinking, searching for a strategy—anything that could turn the tide of the battle. But the truth gnawed at the edges of his thoughts: there was no strategy. No last-minute plan. They had been outmatched from the beginning, and now they were standing at the edge of the abyss.
"He's not immortal. He can't be," Einar replied, though the words rang hollow even in his ears. His voice was steady, but behind it was a weariness that could no longer be hidden. He knew, in his bones, that the end was near. Still, he had to try something for their survival.
The figure stopped, raising its head slightly as if to mock them. "You think you can still fight, boy?" The voice that came from behind the helm was deep, guttural, like rocks grinding against each other, infused with dark magic and hatred. "Your kind always did mistake stubbornness for strength. Look around you—this is what became of their courage. Their hope." It pointed toward the corpses lying on the battlefield. "Embrace death with a smile, like they did."
Einar said nothing. Instead, he inhaled deeply, forcing himself to ignore the searing pain in his ribs, the deep cut in his side that bled freely beneath his armor. He could feel the warmth of his own blood running down his leg, pooling in his boot. It was only a matter of time. But time, for now, was all he had left.
The woman staggered, almost falling. Einar glanced at her, concern flickering briefly in his crimson eyes. She caught herself before hitting the ground, her hands shaking as she lifted her sword again, the faint glow of light magic flickering weakly around her fingers.
"Stay back, Valeria," he ordered, his voice cracking on her name. "Please."
She grabbed his arm, her fingers digging into his armor. "Not this time." Despite her exhaustion, steel rang in her voice. "We fight together or we die together."
"Valeria—"
"I cannot watch you die alone." The fierce love in her eyes made his heart clench.
With a roar, the figure launched forward, its massive sword swinging brutally. The ground trembled under the weight of the attack, sending dirt and blood flying as it came crashing toward Einar. He moved swiftly, faster than his battered body should have allowed, his sword rising to meet the blow. The force of the impact reverberated through his bones, nearly knocking him off balance. But he held firm, teeth gritted against the strain.
Lightning crackled around him, the ancient magic sparking from his fingertips and racing through the air as his power surged in response. His sword glowed briefly, a flash of red bolts as he channeled the last dregs of his power into it. He pushed back, twisting his body as he slid out of the figure's path, the tip of his blade skimming across the obsidian armor, leaving a shallow gash that leaked shadows instead of blood.
But the figure was fast—much faster than something of its size should have been. It swung again, and Einar had to leap back, narrowly avoiding a strike that would have cleaved him in two.
He felt the drain immediately. His magic, while potent, was draining his mana reserves faster than he could afford from his low reserves. His breathing grew heavier and more labored, each gasp of air coming slower than the last.
"Einar!" Valeria's voice was a sharp cry. She raised her hand, and a burst of light erupted from her palm. Golden spears materialized in the air, slamming into the figure's chest and shoulders. It staggered as light pierced its dark armor. The figure growled in pain, but it wasn't enough to stop it.
"Keep going!" she urged, but Einar could hear the strain in her voice and see how the color drained from her face with each spell. She was pushing too hard, drawing on reserves she didn't have.
Taking advantage of the opening, Einar rushed forward, lightning crackling beneath his feet as he blinked across the battlefield, teleporting within meters of his opponent. His sword moved in precise arcs, aiming for the weak spots in the figure's armor. But the creature's massive sword was there to meet him; the clash of their blades sent sparks flying, and the clang of metal against metal echoed through the barren field.
Einar's blade was fast and precise, showcasing his exceptional swordsmanship and control. He parried, ducked, and struck again, each movement sharp and calculated. But the figure was relentless, swinging its broadsword with brutal force that made the ground tremble beneath their feet.
The battle was a blur of motion, both warriors locked in a deadly dance. Einar's body screamed at him to stop and rest, but he couldn't. He had to hold on just a little longer for help. For her. His sword darted in again, lightning sparking along its edge as he aimed for the figure's throat.
But his exhausted body was too slow and clumsy.
A crushing blow slammed into his side, sending him sprawling across the ground. His vision flickered, pain exploding through his body as he felt his ribs crack under the force of the impact. He coughed, blood spraying from his lips, and struggled to push himself to his feet.
The figure was upon him before he could rise, lifting its massive sword above its head. Einar's fingers twitched toward his weapon, but it was out of reach, lying somewhere in the muck of the battlefield.
"No!" Valeria's scream tore through the air. She poured everything she had left into one final spell. Massive swords of pure light materialized around her, launching toward the figure with deadly precision. They struck true, piercing its armor, drawing roars of pain and rage.
But it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
Einar tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't respond. The world began to fade around the edges, pain and exhaustion finally claiming their due. Through blurring vision, he saw her running toward him, her face twisted in desperate denial.
He reached toward her, fingers stretching across the distance between them. In that moment, all the words he'd never said crashed through his mind. All the moments they'd never have.
"Valeria..." The name was a whisper, a prayer, a goodbye.
"Einar!" Her voice carried all the world's love, grief, and rage.
The sword fell.
His last thought was of her smile, bright as morning sunlight from a happier time.
Then darkness embraced him.