“Looks like… this is it…”
Upon a small hill, a lone man knelt tiredly. With his knees together and his head down, anyone would have thought him to be making a prayer to his gods or deity, if not for the scene around him.
Strewn about the man’s vicinity like rich fertilizer that had been generously applied, vast amounts of corpses laid bloody and battered in the morning sun. On closer inspection, even the hill he was kneeling atop, was a small mountain of corpses.
Yet the man was not kneeling because he was praying. He knelt, because he was dying.
Up close, his face was marred with a number of cuts and bruises.
The man was missing half of the gauntlet on his left arm all the way up to his elbow, and on his right hand, his pinky to his middle finger and most of his palm up to his wrist had been cleanly sheared off.
Where his tired left hand drooped, a pitch-black dagger had fallen and planted itself into one of the corpses constituting the hill.
What was left of his right hand though, was resting on a brilliant beam of white. Also embedded into body, brilliant as the sword was, it did not radiate any light nor did it illuminate anything.
As if to contrast one another, the man’s long fine silver hair shimmered majestically as they reflected the coarse light of the morning rays, while his body that was wrapped in armor as dark as night sucked in all light. Behind the man, a ragged blood red cape filled with holes, scratches, and tears, could be seen fluttering without wind.
While thick and daunting, the protective armor had shattered in various spots around the man’s body, revealing his torn-up clothes underneath along with six broken weapons that had pierced him.
Three swords tips.
One in the back right between his scapulae and severing his spinal cord. Two in his chest with one puncturing a lung, and the other his heart.
Three spears tips.
One in his left leg severing the hamstring. Another in his right thigh, and the last one in his back, severing his lower vertebrae.
Humming silently as if resonating with each other, the six weapon tips continued to drive themselves deeper into the man’s exhausted body.
As the morning dawned and sunlight washed over him for the last time. Warmth, deep sadness, and sorrow could be seen on his cold and resigned face.
‘I am… sorry…’
The man thought as a single tear slowly emerged from his glazed eyes.
Crawling down his cheek, it overcame the various cuts and scratches along the way to his prideful chin before finally falling away.
It’s so good to find this story again!
im so glad i found this story again, love that you’ve decided to keep writing it. please keep up the good work.
Thank you for this! I’ve missed this story so much.