Oh?

Nor would she shy away from more carnage. More, more and more. Until the ground was slick with blood and mountains of corpses stood behind her. She would keep fighting.

It wasn't a question of would. It wasn't a question of could.

She did. She was Gyneth Tarasesse of dead Lyoncendre; the Violet Knight of the Grail. The one even ancient dragons feared.

Her greaves were slick with blood and mud and ash already. Her hands were only spared being quite so filthy by the length of her weapons. Truth be told, she was surprised the halberd had lasted this long.

Her face felt metallic. She tasted the copper of combat in her mouth; the rapturous feast of blood and torn flesh. Had her nose broken? Had she bitten a chunk out of her cheek on the last strike against the serpent man?

Ah well. It didn't matter. Not truly. She wadded up the blood in her mouth and spat it out — judging by the way her nose stung when she did, it had more than likely fractured — and took up the best stance she could. She needed only to hold this pass, after all.

They'd come to her. Wave after wave of pitiful fools and their draconic overlords. She'd have plenty of dragons to consume by the end of this battle, to turn into her equipment and gear.

The next wave approached. She took up sword and halberd and made no boast. Why did she need to?

Words were pointless. All that mattered was the battle.

Her eye went small. The world fell to darkness around her as the clouds of smoke billowed to blot out the sun once again.

🌕👤