A Smoking Ruin
Drakuzad held his sword not even a hairsbreadth from the brigand’s throat, the steel cutting into his flesh whenever he took a breath. He was the final member of this band of outlaws, the last to finally be brought low.
“Mercy? MERCY?! You burned this village to the ground…killed innocents! Women and children!! MY FRIENDS!!!”
Drakuzad spat upon the ground mere inches from the terrified face of the ruffian. With an echo of his former brutality, he stared up into Drakuzad’s piercing blue eyes ready with a retort…before his countenance crumbled into fear once again.
“Who are you…? This village was supposed to be remote…unguarded! How did-“
Drakuzad pushed the tip of his sword insistently against his neck, drawing a fresh trickle of blood and cutting off the outlaw before he could dare to finish.
Drakuzad narrowed his eyes and looked upon the brigand with disgust.
“Who I am is unimportant, filth. I will be the final thing you lay eyes upon in this life before you pass into the abyss. May these innocent lives be at peace knowing their deaths are avenged.”
Drakuzad tensed his body and pierced the brigand’s neck, the tip impaling through swiftly and planting into the ground underneath with a dull thud. As the light started to leave the eyes of the outlaw, Drakuzad stared deep into his eyes, whispering:
“And may you suffer all Eternity for your sins, vermin.”
before twisting the blade…and withdrawing his sword.
Drakuzad stood alone in the smoking ruin of the village, an unmoving spectre of death. Thunder rolled overhead as the heavens themselves prepared to mourn for the innocent lives lost here this day. As Drakuzad slowly sheathed his sword, he prepared for the long journey back to the capital…after losing his band of mercenaries in the battle, his dear friends…he would have to find the will to start over once again. For his comrades.
For the Empire.