Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.
-Winston Churchill
Dawnbringer's thrust met only air as the daemon knight spun on his heel to the side, bringing his claymore into a powerful, horizontal arch aimed for Morenth's exposed mid-section. Instead of attempting a wild back-step, the paladin rolled under the strike, whipping his blade up for the dark knight's defenseless arm as he rose back to his feet. It was an awkward slash however, and merely glanced off the daemon's black plate mail.
They squared off once again, steel ringing against steel as they worked their blades into progressively faster routines until the sounds began to blend together in their swiftness. The echoed clanging of metal reverberated through the chaotic cacophony of battle with startling clarity as the bitter opponents fought with a frigid single mindedness.
Despite Morenth's advantage in speed from his lack of armor, he couldn't find an opening in the daemon knight's defenses, at least, not enough for a decisive blow, and the dark figure's unnatural strength leveled the playing field offensively, his blows becoming heavier as the battle wore on.
A slash was followed by a pirouette and counter worked into a double-counter and back to a pirouette as both fighters attempted to gain the upper hand. The never ending flow of swords soon started taking its toll on the paladin, his mortal body tiring even as the daemon seemed to be growing stronger with every blow.
He knew his sword arm would give out eventually under the stress of the dark knight's unbelievably powerful strikes, but all that mattered was finding a flaw in his opponents technique and delivering a decisive blow. An exercise that seemed to be increasingly futile as the Paladin continued to observe the quickening swordsman. He showed no flaw, no crack in his swordsmanship, and was proving the his equal in combat.
Adding to Morenth's troubles was his worry for Twilight and the refugees. The knowledge that they needed his aid fueled his strength with desperation, but drained him of his focus as he forced Dawnbringer into even faster routines, straining his shield arm close to its braking point as he wielded the holy sword in a double handed grip.
The daemon knight, sensing the care Morenth was taking with his left arm, batted the his next strike wildly to the side, and with a frightening quickness worked his black claymore fluidly into an overhead chop with all its power behind it.
Lacking any time to thread his blade behind his opponent's to parry the wanton blow, Morenth had no choice but to take the brunt of the hammering strike with a hasty block.
The force of the dark knight's sword impacting with Dawnbringer sent numbing waves down the paladin's sword arm and a sickening crack from his left.
Morenth bit back the pain surging through his newly broken arm and retreated a few steps back, moving his blade into a series of one-handed flurries to fend off pursuit from his assailant.
It never came.
When the paladin checked his opponent, he found the daemon hadn't moved in to try his luck at ending Morenth's life. Instead the dark knight seemed content to draw the fight out as long as possible. Only then did the paladin notice the writhing forms passing by them, only then did he hear their shrieks of hunger.
Their highlighted forms danced against the dying fires of the defender's makeshift barricade as they fought each other for the chance to be first to their promised meal. Grimy, malformed hands grabbed hold of their fellows, propelling themselves forward towards Hollodrum's remaining sons in a macabre display of their feral appetite.
The undead seemed to be outright avoiding the conflict between himself and their deadly general as they streamed around them, and into the line of guardsmen who were quickly loosing ground without his or Pythoes' leadership to hold them together.
"Yuelith, damn you!" he seethed as step by step, the distance to his allies, and by extension any chance of helping Twilight, became farther beyond his grasp.
For only a moment, Morenth allowed the hopelessness of the situation take hold in his heart, sweat trickling down his brow and into his eyes as his shoulders sagged under the weight of his duty; a single moment of weakness invading his being before drowning the feeling in a wave of righteous fury.
The heat of it burned away the pain in his arm and threatened to have him abandon all reason in its intensity. But what use would he be to Twilight and the refugees if he simply gave in to the fire growing in his breast?
Flowing as if half-alive, the daemon knight's cloak bellowed menacingly against the backdrop of undulating bodies that made up its army as the paladin straitened from his defensive stance, weighing himself against his opponent.
Beneath the stained and ruined leather of his tarnished long coat, beyond his broken arm and exhausted muscles, even without his armor and shield, he was a paladin unbowed and unbent. He would fight to his last breath, or his enemy's.
But what of Twilight?
A snake without a head would wither and die, and with the daemon's influence absent the hoard would falter. The general had to be felled if Twilight and the people of Hollodrum were to have any hope.
Twilight reared up unto her hind legs as the magic in her horn reached the limit of her ability to push mana into the telekinetic spell.
"Part ye dolts! If ye be around for the little missy's performance, not all the clerics in Soulis could put ye back together!" came Reigar's booming voice as he shouted to the guards around him forming a defensive formation in front of the first wagon at the edge of the refugee caravan. They did as instructed and parted, exposing Twilight to the host of undead as she prepared to unleash her magic on them.
The lavender mare's hooves slammed into the wood of the wagon's bed with a crack as she released her hold on the mana coursing through her body, relaxing her focus on the targeting matrix of the telekinetic blast to insure a cone of force instead of a concentrated lance of energy.
Erupting in a blinding mote of pink light, the force of her magic rocked the wagon bed violently as the arcane power from her spell rippled through the hoard like an earthquake brought from the deep recesses of the earth to wreak havoc in the air around them.
The vibrations increased in intensity as Twilight brought as much mana as she could into the ambient spell weave from her reserves, holding and refining the matrix as it peaked into a fever pitch of deafening noise. Sweat slid down her face from under the hood of her armor and into her eyes but she didn't dare blink. Loosing control of a spell of this destructive magnitude would likely kill her, and those that stood with her.
With an effort that nearly caused her to black out, Twilight finished the matrix in a final mental exertion, giving direction to the displaced primal energies. She managed to hold her breath before it could be sucked out of her by the concussive force of the telekinetic wave ripping forward into the host of undead with all the power she could muster. The vacuum of wind whipping around her kept the lavender mare's eyes shut against the violent intrusions and blind to whatever damage it was doing to the hoard.
When it was over and the zephyr subsided however, the tired cheers that filled the silence told her the truth of the outcome. Their jubilance was restrained, full of weariness and fatigue, but they regrouped back into formation, their boots clacking against the street as they readied themselves once again for the melee.
Twilight opened her eyes and immediately regretted doing so. Her stomach lurched at the sight of the mangled bodies of ghouls and smashed skeletons that her spell had destroyed to a point beyond recognition. She didn't have any qualms about bring peace to the bodies of those who were forced to awaken from eternal slumber to hunt their families and neighbors, but the grotesque nature of her handiwork made her insides do somersaults as they rebelled against her.
The nausea combined with the sudden exhaustion from her efforts drove Twilight to her fore-knees as she gasped for breath, her mind muddled with incoherent strings of leftover spell weave.
Destruction and waste spread out in a fan from the wagon the lavender mare was using for cover, scaring the cobbled street in many places where primal energies had delved deep furrows into the ground. The scope of the spell's lethal effects was close to one hundred meters by Twilight's estimate, and the undead beyond the epicenter had been knocked off their feet by the force of the blast.
"Oh by the goddess-Twilight! Are you alright?!" Wynn called out as she rushed to climb into the back of the wagon, her voice heavy with concern.
She looked disheveled, and her newly aquired tunic was stained with the sweat of the seamstress' labors as she took a knee next to Twilight to help steady the weakening unicorn mage.
"Sir Riegar, the supplies are finished being loaded! Sound the call to retreat!" Wynn yelled over her shoulder to the smith who was readying the small group of guards for the next assault.
"Ay told ye, Ay ain't no 'sir'!" Riegar complained as he reached for the horn lashed to his belt.
The second call of the battle was higher pitched than the last as it came from a much thinner horn. It's echoed tones had an almost immediate effect on the battle stretched out before them. The rear of the surrounded guard formation pushed the flanking undead with more force as the front units began adding their strength to the advance.
From their position atop the steady incline the western gate sat on, the small contingent was offered a full view of the forces below.
Twilight's horn began to glow again only to sputter out as the consequences of magical burnout began taking effect.
"Whoa! Twilight please rest, you've done more than enough," Wynn begged, supporting most of the Twilight's weight as she crouched next to mare.
Lacking the energy to argue, Twilight let herself rest against the seamstress as she scanned the battlefield through half lidded eyes for her wayward companion.
The mass of guardsmen were pulling away from the burning barrier as the undead host streamed in after them, but near the opposite side of the breach, created by what Riegar had called an 'Ulegroth', there was a large gap in the sea of ghouls and skeletons. Two figures seemed to be locked in a duel, lunging and leaping at and around each other at dizzying speeds.
Twilight gasped as she recognized the glow of the smaller figures weapon, its blade illuminated with a fierce light as it darted through the air in search of its enemy's weakness.
"Morenth!" she cried, panicking as the undead pushed the retreating defenders back and further away from the engaged Paladin.
"Aaaarrrggghhhh!"
Morenth thrust his sword just under the daemon's horizontal slash aimed at his neck, and with a strained heave, forced the blade harmlessly overhead before bringing Dawnbringer into an attack of his own, its fine edge traveling up the flat of the claymore into his opponents helmet. It impacted with a clang, snapping the dark knight's head to the side.
Reeling from the blow, the daemon fell back a step, its sword held diagonally across its body in an off balance, defensive stance as it attempted to regain his senses.
The Paladin pressed the advantage, aligning Dawnbringer's point with the eye slats of the dark knight's skull shaped helmet and stabbed. He failed to realize the faint before the hilt of his opponent's claymore hooked his blade in its guard, locking Morenth's blade as the daemon forced his sword arm up while at the same time slashing across the paladin's exposed chest.
Biting pain and frigid cold exploded from the wound as necromantic magic coursed through the claymore and into Morenth's body, numbing his extremities as it spread death itself into his veins.
"Damn you wretch!" the Paladin seethed, setting his feet beneath him as his sight blurred like the shifting water colors of an obscured painting.
How much left did he have to give?
The gash, that was starting to stain his long coat a disturbingly shade of black instead of red, somehow numbed his body while leaving the pain visceral and untouched by the poison's effects.
With his sword arm still locked, the daemon's armored boot lashed out, knocking Morenth off his feet as it caught him in the chest and forced he air from his lungs. He landed on his back with a dull thud, his fall cushioned by a corpse laying longways under his shoulder blades. The body was facing the sky, and it's face looked up with open eyes glazed and unseeing into the brightening pre-dawn, his mouth frozen in a tired half-grin; Pythoes' remains.
Heat no longer held in his corpse as the cold added and mixed with Morenth's own fading warmth, making him shiver involuntarily. The young lieutenant deserved better than to be left to rot and rise as one of the creatures that had murdered his family, but the Paladin knew better than anyone that death had little care for what was deserved.
The dark knight looked down at Morenth with only passing interest before turning his attention to the horizon where the first rays of light lanced through the sky between the mountains of distant Eldathine. It snarled at Yuelith's gift in disgust and brought his claymore into a reversed, double handed grip with the tip poised over his heart.
"Even if you kill me, you'll not have your prize, filth. The dawn will see to that." The Paladin coughed and felt the blood fall against his face in tiny droplets, then spit at the daemon in defiance. "May Yuelith's light burn your corrupt soul to the void."
His sight flashed pink as the claymore lurched down toward his heart. He closed his eyes in anticipation of his end, and prayed to Yuelith for the safety of Twilight and the refugees after his passing.
And then... nothing.
Several seconds passed without the final blow falling before the Paladin opened his eyes in confusion.
The claymore still dripping with his own blood was held just inches above his chest encased in a familiar pink aura as the daemon knight growled in agitation, struggling to press the blade through the unexpected resistance.
"Morenth!"
The cry came to him as though through a fog as vertigo steadily began to overwhelm his senses, but the identity of the voice's origins was unmistakable.
Morenth's head lulled back to find a splotch of purple against the undulating blackness that dominated his vision. The sputtering pink glow flickered as the figure dropped with a squeak of anguish, still fighting to continue as it became weaker. His heart may as well have been pierced already as it burned with pain and unrelenting sorrow at Twilight's appearance. She was there, trapped, and unable escape the darkness that would soon descend upon her.
She wasn't supposed to die, not for him, not here, not by these things.
'You fool! You're not meant to die like this! You have friends, and family, and a home to go back to!' His thoughts raged and lashed out, trying to force his body to move again. He couldn't feel it normally, but the warmth of Dawnbringer's hilt permeated his groping hand as it passed over the blessed blade. "I won't allow it!"
With an eruption of strength, Morenth's boot smashed into the side of the detracted daemon's knee, causing it crumple as the dark knight was forced to kneel. The blow threw the claymore in his grip off balance as it finally overcame Twilight's hold. It pierced into the head of Pythoes' corpse and into the cobbled street below it, holding the blade fast in the stone.
Ignoring the pain as he rolled over his crippled arm and onto his feet, Morenth brought Dawnbringer into a deadly arc with the rest of his strength behind it. The slash tore through the chain mail quiff in between the daemon's helmet and cuirass, cleaving the dark knight's head from his shoulders. It hit the ground with a heavy thud, and the fiery pits in its helmet slits went dark as death took it, only to be consumed a moment later by the purifying flames of his swords holy enchantment.
The effect on the hoard was immediate. Ghouls stopped their ghastly wails and skeletons stood motionless as the dark magic holding their wills evaporated with the death of their general, lost in a rare temporary confusion as the collective mind slowly started to transition to individual instinct. For the moment however, all was deathly silent besides two sets of labored breathing.
Morenth teetered to either side as the blood pumping in his head became an unbearable percussion of throbbing confusion. Every beat pushed him further away from the waking world, and perhaps his life, but this was not a train of thought he could afford to follow. His time was short and he still had at least one more purpose to fulfill.
With an unbalanced lurch, the Paladin pivoted, facing the western gate and Twilight's nearly motionless form as he pooled what was left of his strength. He exploded into a labored sprint, dragging his body against its wishes toward his fallen companion. The undead were docile for the moment but he couldn't begin to guess how long it would last.
The feeling of his boots pounding into the blood slicked stone of the street was all he could feel besides the agonizing pain burning into his being from his chest and arm as he ran as fast as he could while dodging the corpses that littered the battlefield. He sheathed Dawnbringer as he prepared for a desperate flight back to friendly lines.
Falling to a knee as he passed her, Morenth scooped up Twilight under his good arm, feeling only her warmth instead of touch to assure him that she was still there as he sprinted at the motionless flank of the undead formation blocking passage through the breach. His legs, trained to endure battle while wearing the heaviest of armors, pumped relentlessly as he built up momentum. Cringing, he brought the shoulder of his crippled arm to bear.
Pain shot through his system like lightning, arcing from his shoulder to his chest and up into his head as he plowed over the ghouls and skeletons like ragdolls. They made no reaction to his sudden intrusion into their ranks, and Morenth did his best to shield Twilight from the impacts as he barreled toward the western gate.
The shouts of victory from the main host of guardsmen were only a dull undertone compared to the merciless pounding in the paladin's skull. Colors and shapes began to distort in his vision, leaving him with only a vague approximation of where to go. His thoughts began to untangle as the frigid cold seeped into his veins from his chest wound, slowly shutting down his senses until it felt like he was running in a weightless void with only the light of an infant dawn as a guide post to his goal.
Time stretched out until Morenth wasn't sure how long he'd been running, completely oblivious to his surroundings. The small warmth against his side was the only solid focal point in the churning delirium of mingled sights and sounds.
If Morenth hadn't been in the throws of hallucination he would have been aware of the guards moving along side him cheering and helping keep him upright as they rushed to rejoin their families.
Vague sensations, such as jarring impacts as he stumbled were muted and dulled. His eyes searched feverishly but found nothing that made sense. Only the voice at the back of conscious thought remained.
'Run!'
'Advance!'
'Move!'
'SURVIVE!'
Suddenly the voices stopped as Morenth felt like he was being lifted up, floating listlessly is if surrounded by water. An endless ocean like the Sea of Dawn's Passage, its waves gently rising and falling as breakers caped in white sea foam lapped around him.
'Is this what it feels like to die? If so then it's not so bad...' were the Paladin's last coherent thoughts as he slipped into the blissful darkness of a deserved rest.
On an outcropping concealed by the thick tree line of the Bloodwood a slender, graceful figure watched the steady procession of wagons move across the rolling hills that were the gateway to the Grey Flats, and away from the smoking ruins of a pathetic town called Hollodrum. Her beautifully slender face betrayed nothing of the seething anger that dwelled in her thoughts as the vermin that dotted the landscape below fled beyond her wrath.
A lithe hand as pale as the moon clutched tightly to a staff of gnarled grey wood adored with skulls. Some were human while others were of a darker kin. Its tapered end bit into the earth, killing the undergrowth of the forest as it sucked the life out of it to feed the staff's hunger.
Melondra Viersith, apprentice of the Lich King Val Sermas and commander of his armies, searched with magically enhanced vision as she scoured each insignificant bug crawling around the caravan for her prey.
According to her master there was a hated Paladin among them. One who had dared to harm the powerful Lich King while he was absorbed in an important ritual, the specifics of which her master had chosen not to grace her with. Regardless, there was a reckoning to be had with this man for his crimes, and the duty had fallen to her as the Lich King recovered.
The light of dawn dotted her skin through the shade of the tree but she payed it no mind. She had power over the undead, but she was not one of them, and the sun's radiance did little but make her already pale skin glow with an alabaster white even as the undead at her back retreated slightly into the darker bowls of the Bloodwood. Her pawns couldn't pursue her target across the Grey Flats. It was too open and offered no protection from the light of day.
"Cursed Yuelith." she said to no one in particular, her voice rich and melodious, concealing the heartless cold that hid beneath its feminine beauty. "Oh well, it matters little. I'll just have to make some more pets when they reach the end of their road."
Despite her dark mood, Melondra's lips curled into a sadistic grin.
The hunt was on.