Throbbing has reached his ears and the world around him sounded more like the rhythm of his own heart than the onslaught of battle.
Bosco had shouted something just now. His voice was as large as he was but as for the content of his words, that was lost. Senkrads was only able to tell as the vibrations reached him. Was his war cry that loud? Or had Senkrads become that weak? He looked at his hand. It should have been wielding his warhammer but through the offensive it had become lost. Instead it had been replaced by blood, his own. It stained his gauntlet blue. His side was open and an arrow pocked his shoulder.
It didn’t hurt.
And that scared him.
He fought through the numbness and reached out to channel his connection to the Light. A stream of light bolted from his palm. Bosco had unleashed his ordnance against many but this one within the group withstood him. His smite was brilliant. A yellow crescent slice, with a white-hot the center, accompanied by streaks of blue, and orange. This display, no doubt, marking Senkrads as a target. The attacker recoiled, staggered, and then returned to his stance of charging right at the group, only now with Senkrads as the focus. It lunged. Senkrads had placed his shield between the two in time but there was no power behind it. He was drained from his wounds and the exertion was only progressing his blood loss further.
Senkrads was on the ground now, thrown a few feet back. The attacker didn’t come finish him off, not yet at least. Perhaps another member of the Sha’tor had finished it off, and they would soon notice his absence and find him splayed out on the ground. Maybe it had diverted it’s attention elsewhere, thinking him as dead? What if he were to die? Senkrads couldn’t escape these thoughts just as he couldn’t escape the position he was in. It hurt. It hurt far too much to move.
Could he accept dying here? His life was full, after all he had done so much with it, and even now he wouldn’t consider it to be in vain. He had saved lives, innocent lives. He hoped it was enough. Almost pleading to himself that no others had to fall. Names and faces flashed passed him. Skepna. Protect her. Eiridiel, Orynthia, Ishdra, Khaamara. Protect them. He continued to name others to himself. So many to think of. Those of his conclave, those of the other conclaves. Those under the protection of this Order. He was so new to the Sha’tor but he could see their valor. Their importance. To whatever force was looming above, against them: Please, don’t take more. He was enough.
Was there anything now he could do to keep them safe he wondered? Again he stirred attempting to get up. He wasn’t ready to lay down and die just yet, even if he had accepted his end. He failed, and failed again, and then failed a third time. There would be no returning to his hooves. The Sha’tor would either win, here and today, and maybe catch Senkrads threads away from dying or they would finish the evacuation and retreat themselves. Would they be safe then? What if they were found while licking their wounds and seeing to the sick? Senkrads was pulled to a memory between him and the Exarch. If he were ever to be compromised… Senkrads shifted his weight and unlatched his shield from his hand. It was the only one with any strength left. He held tightly his comms crystal in his and squeezed. He put more and more pressure on the device, wanting it to crack or shatter or anything! If taken they would listen in, or even be used to track other crystals.
Unfortunately his attempts were put to an end. A volley of suffering and pain struck the area that the Sha’tor had been protecting. Senkrads were not asked to endure any more. His life ceased and Senkrads drew in no more breaths, only exhaling his last. The light in his eyes faded away.
…
……
………
Like a cicada grown too large for its shell. His soul emerges shedding free from his coiled form. It pulled away from the lifeless husk and drifted from it. Each tug from the tethers that bind the two together rip causing the body to spasm and shutter. When the last cord of connection breaks, now it was the spirit that shakes and convulses. Also like the nocturnal insect, when this happens he wanted to scream. Nothing sounded. He had emotions with no vent. Pain with no release. He knew what was transpiring now to his soul, to himself, was by some deviant matter, the what’s and why’s still alien to him. Just that he knew he wasn’t alone in his act. There were others in the mist of souls, others who felt familiar. And others who Senkrads could feel were the conductors of this orchestra. However he wouldn’t have this feeling for much longer. His thoughts, and his feelings, and anything and everything left faded. Away into an unending pitch black darkness.












