Blade from a Brother
It came out of nowhere. From the back or from the side, he wasn’t sure. He only knew that it hit the target… his heart. He saw a second blade flash. This one into another, but it missed its mark. Perhaps it bit flesh, but did not wound. Not like the first blade.
A knife between the ribs, into the soft spot where the lifeblood begins and ends. He fell to the hard ground below his feet as the crimson ran freely onto the grass. Blood makes the grass grow, he thought. My Blood.
His life flashed before his eyes in an instant… A thousand years of living and fighting for the cause.
He glimpsed the ghost of the fallen Warlord and heard his call… Beckoning him to join the ranks of the dead.
As he turned to look at his assailant a shock ran through his dark soul. “Why my Brother?” he asked.
The familiar voice replied… “Shut the fuck up.”
He had died a thousand times. And a thousand times his Demon had brought him back. With each passage through the veil between the material world of the living and the shadow realm of eternal darkness, he simply sacrificed another part of his soul.
There was always more to do on the plane of Amtgard. Always someone to kill, some great wrong to right, some cause to fight for…
But not this time.
Knowing his weakness, his brother’s blade had struck true. There would be no resurrection.
Again he saw the ghost of the fallen Warlord… It greeted him with open arms. “I told you this would happen” whispered the ghost.
He took his last breath and the darkness folded around him. Again the familiar voice of his brother sounded…
“Shut the fuck up. It’s Not about you.”
THE END
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