[ OT ] Sunday Free Write : Leave A Story , Leave A Comment - Half Dozen Edition

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 The Salamander smiled, his features afire with avarice and cruelty. 
 
 `` It's over, Flint. All your plans, all your armies burnt to ash. You're out of options.'' 
 
 Hilary Flint, kneeling over a fallen warrior glanced up at the Fae general, his eyes burning with simmering rage. All around him the remains of the battle moaned or else cried out for their gods and mothers, the less fortunate deathly silent upon the field. Already the carrion birds had begun to circle in, wheeling in black cloud to join the grisly feast awaiting them. 
 
 A half-dozen arrows were broken stubs upon the veteran human's armor, their cedar shafts snapped off close to the steel arrowheads. His gauntlets were soaked with blood, the copper stink drying to the metal and leather. His helm with its razor crown lay a crumpled mess besides him, its grotesque mask cracked. 
 
 `` No, I still got one left...'' Flint whispered, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword til his knuckles turned bone white. A summer breeze blew through the field, tossing the blood soaked grass and billowing the stained banners. Flint turned his sight towards the South, and towards the overhead sun just beginning to dip down. He smiled with tears in his eyes. 
 
 *'' May God have mercy* 
 *On the desperate and mad* 
 *And most of all me. `` * 
 
 He sprang up, the sword *Kinslayer* clenched in his hand, its ebon black seeming to absorb all light that touched its blade. The Salamander shouted in alarm, bringing up his own sword in a vain attempt at blocking the human's strike. Steel rang against steel as blades met, sparks flying as both attacked and parried. Flint screamed with all the agony of a thousand martyrs, each blow capable of cleaving through stone or steel in equal measure. But the Salamander blocked each strike with desperate parry, a strange and novel feeling flowing through his veins. It was the thought of the prey as the raptor struck, as the wolves circled the wounded beast. It was fear. 
 
 Flint saw this and pressed his attack, paying no heed to his own defenses as he slammed his stolen blade harder and harder at his foe. Each block of the Salamander become weaker and weaker. The Fae panicked, tears dripping down his face as he dived out the way of another blow. 
 
 `` It's useless!'' he screamed. `` Even if you kill me, you ca n't possibly defeat my army. My guards will kill you where you stand! My death will be meaningless!'' 
 
 Hilary Flint merely laughed at that, his sword wisping acrid smoke as he flourished it in the air. 
 
 `` Your death will be enough...'' 
 
 
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 Hey there! Happy Easter! If you'd like more of what write, check out my history or go to /r/LovableCoward. Please, enjoy and tell me what you think!
