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post #5 of (permalink) Old 01-20-13, 10:44 PM
Romero's Own
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955 words

His chest burned, his own hot blood mixing freely upon his chest with that of the foe.

His armour was shredded and hung useless against his battered and bloody flesh.
He could feel his cracked ribs and knew he was dying.

His leg ached, the bone in pieces and the flesh cut and torn. He could not walk on it, let alone run. All he could do was stand where was. Even that sent lances of pain from his leg.

His sword slipped, his hand covered with blood and sweat. The blows were weak and did little damage to those he swung at. Eventually he lowered his arm and stopped fighting.

His shield clanged, the blows of his enemies crashing against it again and again. The metal dented and split as he crouched behind his final defence. He turned his head away and clenched his fists.

His vision blurred, sweat from his own brow rendering his eyes near useless. He blinked away the sweat but his salty tears just made his eyes once more blind. He gave in and closed his eyes tight.

His ears deafened, the roars of his enemy as well as himself too loud. He could hear nothing but the sound of death and brutal battle all around him. He shut out the noise as best he could.

His friends died, falling to the ground all around him. Those he had fought beside for many years fell to the cruel weapons of the enemy. Soon none were left and he stood alone.

He enemies cheered, sensing victory within their grasp. They pressed forward, slaying even more of those that stood against them. They closed around him, their weapons slicing him.

His heart thudded, the sound echoing within his head. It drowned out all other noise as the steady beat absorbed him. He concentrated on nothing else, trying to ignore the pain.

His faith raged, the only thing keeping him upon his feet. Belief in his gods still burnt within him, thought little else but pain did. But even the flame of his faith began to splutter and die.

His body roared, every part of him cut and bleeding. Even as he stood, wicked blades cut into his flesh and fresh blood poured out onto the ground. He could feel his life force ebbing from him and knew his time was nearly up.

His knees buckled, falling to his knees upon the ground. His shield clattered to his side, he had no use for it anymore. His sword fell from his grasp and the metal rang out upon the ground. His head slumped as he lost all hope.

His face thudded, down into the mud as he fell to the ground. He did not lift his face, he had no energy left. He opened his eyes, the sun almost blinding him.

His eyes focussed, upon a lone figure clad in steel. A lone figure moving towards where he lay.

The man’s chest glittered, armour glinting in the sun, the afternoon sun reflecting off the brilliant metal. Proud bronze of a warrior.

The man’s leg kicked, a foe hit the ground. He was nimble, like an animal, and struck with power and accuracy with all parts of himself.

The man’s sword slashed enemies down in all directions. His blows were precise and every one of them took the life of an enemy. The cuts sliced through flesh like a hot knife through butter.

The man’s shield blocked, the foe’s blows useless. He deflected every blow easily, moving like a dancer through the midst of the enemy. Even the shield became a weapon in his hand as he knocked a foe to the floor.

The man’s vision sparked, every blow deadly. He saw everything and took everything into account as he fought like a lion. Nothing slipped by him and the battle became part of him.

The man’s ears listened, every noise taken in. He spun towards new foes and slew them with ease as they charged towards him. None took him by surprise or came at him from behind.

The man’s friends charged, joining the fight against the enemy. The wave of fresh warriors surged across the battlefield, killing all in its path.

The man’s enemies screamed, the tides of the battle turned against them. They turned to run, terror gripping their hearts in a vice of steel.

The man’s heart shrilled, victory easily within his reach. He fought on with even more vigour, knowing that the battle was almost his.

The man’s faith purged, all before him fell beneath him. His gods rallied with him and lent him strength and skill.

The man’s body pushed, fatigue unfelt in the rush of battle. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, pushing him to feats of great strength.

The man’s knees lashed, crippling those against him. Those that fell quickly felt the steel of his sword as he slew them.

The man’s face beamed, joy of the victory in battle. His eyes glinted with excitement as he saw the battle won.

The man’s eyes spotted, the single soldier lying upon the ground.

His face fell as he ran to the man’s. He fell to his knees and dropped his sword and shield to the ground. He reached out and felt the man’s pulse. Feeling nothing but a weak beat he lifted the man upon his shoulders and turned away from the battle.

Walking quickly and purposefully towards the sunset. He had arrived too late. The man he now carried towards safety had died fighting a battle he did not need to fight. But the man vowed one thing as he walked away.

He vowed he would remember this man’s last stand.

Even if no-one else would.

Now i know this is a bit of a weird story but it's what happened when i started writing so i thought I might as well roll with it. Any feedback or comments are greatly appreciated.

The Silent Lions Chapter

Winter Falls


Give a man a match and he will be warm for a day.
Set a man on fire and he will be warm for the rest of his life.
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