Author: Bane of Orcs PM
They locked stares from across the battlefield... They slammed together like two tectonic plates, their fury driving their every movement. Rated T for violence. One-shot.Rated: Fiction T - English - Suspense - Words: 916 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 1 - Published: 01-28-13 - Status: Complete - id: 3096399
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Their eyes locked from across the battlefield. Both moved swift to attack as soldiers scrambled out of the way. Those foolish enough to try and stop one of the enemies were cut down without a thought and trampled.
They finally met in the middle, knights and foot soldiers quickly clearing a small arena for them. Axe met sword as the two's deadly dance of blades began. Sweat dripped from the combatants' faces. Weariness slowed their swings slightly. But as the realization that their arch nemesis was standing across from them, that this was the last battle, gave them renewed energy. Rage driving their every movement, the two flew at each other, slashing and biting, spitting and biting.
Sparks flew as metal hit metal, the ringing from the blades coming so frequent that it sounded as one long tone, only changing into a higher or lower pitch as a strike was given more strength or had no real power behind it. Dirt flew into the air as the two pivoted, dug their heels in for power, and ran at or around each other. It was complete chaos, the entire world fading to nothing until it was just these two, both intent on killing the other.
Nothing comprehensible was said. Only grunts and groans, war cries and shouts of pain or victory came forth to accompany the ringing metal.
The axe arced in, and was easily deflected. It was brought back quickly and twisted under the opposing blade. A quick tug and twist had the weapon flying, to land among the dead, and discarded weapons. Again the axe flew in, a certain kill against the unarmed warrior.
A swift punch to the midsection had the axe-wielder off-balance enough for a kick to send the weapon skidding into the dirt. Both stepped back and stared the other down, knowing it was time to see who the man was.
Then, both charged forward, a primal cry of rage, desperation, and sorrow. Their fury could level a mountain as the two collided, like tectonic plates slamming together. To any who watched, they were like two gods clashing together, lashing out even more viciously as their personal battle became even more-so.
A fist connected with a nose, sending a spray of blood into the air. The victim staggered back, taking another smack to the eye. He tried futilely to put up a defense against the heavy punches his opponent threw, but couldn't concentrate as more and more blows got through his defenses. An especially powerful kick had him on the ground, scrambling to get up.
But he was effectively pinned under the weight of his younger, less experienced opponent. The blows kept coming down, raining in on his face and skull. His arms provided only a meager protection against the rage of his nemesis.
The pain! It was near unbearable! Why keep fighting back?
With a growl, the man caught the next punch coming in for his ear. He twisted and jerked, bringing the owner down nearly on top of him. But, his attacker was too smart, and had fought in enough battles - no matter how little the number may be - and saw the move coming.
He fell with the grab, sticking his knee straight out as he threw another barrage of punches. More than a few landed, his mailed fist drawing blood easily and quickly.
When his opponent's arms slumped and his grip loosened, his rage flared up again and his punches came harder, until the other man's arms completely dropped and his eyes rolled into his head. Another flurry of punches, borne of regret, sorrow and even more rage crushed the skull, caving it in. Blood and brains splattered the warrior's arms as he let his emotions play out and he pulverized the corpse's head.
By the time he stood up and stared at the bearded dead man, tears were streaming down his cheeks unchecked. A few soldiers tentatively stepped forward, trying to determine the victor.
"Sir?" one knight asked, limping forward.
"This needn't have happened," the warrior replied, whispering.
"What do mean, my lord?"
"I could've tried to turn him from this course. Could've offered him a seat near the throne, as my co-ruler. Captured him and tried to persuade him."
"There's nothing you could've done, my lord. He was set in his course." The knight stared at his king for a moment before turning and shouting for his men to begin the march back. Many were still looting bodies and grumbled about the orders, but did as they were told.
Alone now, the king stared at the body and finally wiped the tears from his eyes, smearing blood across his cheek. His wrist shot a wave of pain through his body, and he then noticed that it was sprained or broken, from when it had been grabbed. More regret bubbled up within him, beginning anew the tears.
He stared at the body and finally fell to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Brother, why?" he cried, balling his fists and slamming them on his thighs. "I'm sorry. There was no other way, brother."
A/N: Well, what'd ya think? I have an idea to make this into a novel, but would like feedback on this first. Note, this is not my original style for writing. I'm usually much more in-depth, but was trying this kind of writing. Anyways, drop a review!