“All you have is me,” he said. “I hope I’ll suffice, you sick bastards.”
Luther’s mouth hung open, and he seemed at a loss for words. Those behind him knew what they wanted, though, and they readied their weapons and magic. Darius tensed, and he dared let a grin show. Him against them all in a desperate battle to the death. What more could he possibly have asked for?
With a cry, he charged, the light of his sword shimmering bright. Dark paladins swarmed around Luther, bringing their weapons to his protection. Darius swung, pouring into it a reckless energy. His sword connected with a large blade akin to his own, and sparks showered across the grass from the contact. Darius was the faster to recover, and he thrust for the man’s neck only to have it blocked by another. An elbow struck his forehead. Staggering back, he swung again, hitting only air. Two priests leapt forward, hands extended. Shadows shot forth, and at their touch he screamed as his nerves ignited with pain.
Fully surrounded now, Darius continued to swing, constantly turning in a vain attempt to prevent a sneak attack. A sword thrust pierced his side, slipping through a crease in his armor. It wasn’t deep, but it was enough to steal his balance as the blood ran free. Another man caught him, slammed his helmet into his face. To his knees Darius fell as all around he saw the blurred faces of men who hated him.
“That…” he gasped, “that all you can do?”
He tried rising, but a heavyset man lifted a great mace with both hands and swung. It smashed into Darius’s leg, and he felt bones shattering. He screamed. Unable to stand, the others held him, pinning his arms. When he refused to be disarmed, they pulled and twisted until his elbow snapped. His sword fell to the ground before him. More spells shone from the hands of priests, sapping his strength.
Helpless, Darius watched as Luther slowly approached.
“You could have been our greatest,” he said, pulling a dagger out from a hidden pocket of his robes.
“No,” Darius said, defiant to the last. “The greatest of you is still so much less.”
“Less?” asked Luther as those around him laughed and mocked. “You’re beaten, Darius. You’re abandoned. You are the unloved. At least accept this one last truth before you die.”
The words were muffled in his mind, but one sliced through his delirium and pain.
Unloved…
Unloved…
Luther stabbed the dagger just below his chestplate and into his stomach, but Darius never felt it. Instead, an anger grew in his breast, and it contained such fury it terrified him. The pain in his limbs started to fade, and with vision suddenly clear he looked up at Luther.
“Unloved?” he said. “Who are you, Luther, to deny the love I know?”
The words were his own, but not. He heard ringing, he felt power, and then from his back spread wings of silvery light. Their edges sliced through the armor of the paladins that held him, and when blood splattered, it refused to stain the ethereal feathers. Darius cast off the men and grabbed his sword. Immediately the metal vanished, overwhelmed by a blade of purest light, as weightless as the feathers stretching from his back. The wounds in his body were closed. When he pivoted, his knee felt stronger than it had in years.
In a single swing he killed three, the blade of light cutting through their bodies like they were stalks of wheat. Turning, the paladin with the mace lifted it up to block, but Darius cut right through, splitting him in twain from forehead to sternum. Spinning, he caught two priests trying to curse him. The wings stretching from his back folded protectively, and the spells hit without the ability to penetrate. Spreading wide, Darius rushed them, with two flicks of his wrist severing their heads. Faster and faster he moved, nothing able to satisfy his rage.
They were panicking now, and one dark paladin moved to guard Luther. The black flame around his sword was great, and when Darius swung the man blocked with a great cry to his god. The blades connected midair, releasing a shockwave that felt like a pale imitation of when Cyric’s sword had struck Jerico’s shield. As the other paladin stood shocked, Darius pulled back and swung, the second blow shattering the steel. Helpless, the man could do nothing as Darius cut through one side of his waist and out the other.
To his left a priest gathered shadows on his fingers. Feathers from his wing lashed out, and to the ground fell those same fingers. Another beat of the wing, and the priest fell with them. Blood pounding in his ears, Darius turned and turned, his sword cutting down all who would face him. A single beat of his wings and he leapt on those who tried to flee.
And then, quick as it began, it was over. Only one remained, and the tip of Darius’s sword hovered just shy of his throat.