years. He slept soundly, yet very lightly. The slightest sound that was out of place was enough to wake him fully, and he had disciplined himself to awaken without changing his breathing pattern in the slightest.
He waited, unmoving. Now he could hear something moving around inside the hut. The heat from the sword that lay under his arm confirmed the danger he felt.
Cracking his right eye open, he looked around the room. On the other side of the fire pit stood a figure cloaked in darkness, a long haggard robe draped down, dragging on the floor. Kreios’s hand rested near the grip of his sword and he moved his fingers slowly, wrapping them around it and enclosing it like a band of iron. Every muscle in his body tensed. You will only have one chance. Make this count.
In a blur of speed and in one motion, Kreios jumped to his feet and unsheathed the Sword of Light. The hulking dark visitor screeched in pain but did not shrink back as blazing light filled the room. Kreios could feel the demon drawing on his life force. But an unexpected sensation interrupted all of this. With sword in hand, Kreios could now feel it resisting the demonic draw. It was restoring him, renewing him, and he regained what had been stolen as energy returned, flowing up his arm, into his chest. He betrayed himself with a faint smile, flashing across his face.
From the corner of his eye, Kreios saw another filthy black figure, stepping from the next room. He decided to begin the fight by ending it. Quickly he swung the Sword and split the midsection of the closest enemy, spilling his bowels onto the ground.
Before it could roar with indignant pain, he had begun fluidly moving the Sword back into the attack, arcing low, barely touching the dirt floor, and coming back around to shoulder height. He was poised and did not hesitate. With a backhand swing he took off its head and watched as its jagged sword clacked to the ground, its body crumpled in a bloody heap.
Kreios immediately felt a surge of power returning to him and his birthmark glowed up his arm as if on fire. Now for another.
He turned toward the second intruder, closing with it quickly. As Kreios drew back to strike, the beast savagely plunged a crooked black dagger into him. Kreios felt searing pain as the blade penetrated his chest. His thoughts turned toward his precious daughter in the next room. As he fell to his knees, stunned, he prayed desperately for her safety.
No words passed between the two enemies as they stared at each other. Kreios still held the Sword in the vise of his grip as it flamed brightly, the white light revealing the hideousness of his enemy. It was disgusting, pathetic. A dirty waxy hood concealed its face, revealing only the glow of eyes within that were fueled by the fires of Hell itself. Leaving the dagger jutting from Kreios’ chest, the demon raised its wickedly curved black sword high overhead, savoring the coming strike at the heart of his foe.
Its stinking festering body tensed in preparation for the final blow. Abruptly, however, the thing retched; black liquid gurgled up from its throat, and its sword fell clanging to the floor. Its mouth hung open wide, and in the light of the Sword Kreios could see the sharpness of steel sticking through the beast from the back of its head, protruding from its gaping mouth.
Zedkiel!
Kreios pulled the beast’s dagger free of his own chest and turned it homeward, burying the smoking tip within the sickening folds of the robe of the demon. He rose up, ignoring the pain shooting through his ribcage, and swung the Sword violently across its neck, severing the head. The demon fell to the dirt floor, dead. Tacky blood spilled from its body. Zedkiel put his foot on the head and pulled his sword free, standing over the lifeless form with contempt.
“Are you wounded?” Zedkiel looked at Kreios and leaned down to examine his injury.
“He missed my lung. I can already feel it healing. I will be whole by
He waited, unmoving. Now he could hear something moving around inside the hut. The heat from the sword that lay under his arm confirmed the danger he felt.
Cracking his right eye open, he looked around the room. On the other side of the fire pit stood a figure cloaked in darkness, a long haggard robe draped down, dragging on the floor. Kreios’s hand rested near the grip of his sword and he moved his fingers slowly, wrapping them around it and enclosing it like a band of iron. Every muscle in his body tensed. You will only have one chance. Make this count.
In a blur of speed and in one motion, Kreios jumped to his feet and unsheathed the Sword of Light. The hulking dark visitor screeched in pain but did not shrink back as blazing light filled the room. Kreios could feel the demon drawing on his life force. But an unexpected sensation interrupted all of this. With sword in hand, Kreios could now feel it resisting the demonic draw. It was restoring him, renewing him, and he regained what had been stolen as energy returned, flowing up his arm, into his chest. He betrayed himself with a faint smile, flashing across his face.
From the corner of his eye, Kreios saw another filthy black figure, stepping from the next room. He decided to begin the fight by ending it. Quickly he swung the Sword and split the midsection of the closest enemy, spilling his bowels onto the ground.
Before it could roar with indignant pain, he had begun fluidly moving the Sword back into the attack, arcing low, barely touching the dirt floor, and coming back around to shoulder height. He was poised and did not hesitate. With a backhand swing he took off its head and watched as its jagged sword clacked to the ground, its body crumpled in a bloody heap.
Kreios immediately felt a surge of power returning to him and his birthmark glowed up his arm as if on fire. Now for another.
He turned toward the second intruder, closing with it quickly. As Kreios drew back to strike, the beast savagely plunged a crooked black dagger into him. Kreios felt searing pain as the blade penetrated his chest. His thoughts turned toward his precious daughter in the next room. As he fell to his knees, stunned, he prayed desperately for her safety.
No words passed between the two enemies as they stared at each other. Kreios still held the Sword in the vise of his grip as it flamed brightly, the white light revealing the hideousness of his enemy. It was disgusting, pathetic. A dirty waxy hood concealed its face, revealing only the glow of eyes within that were fueled by the fires of Hell itself. Leaving the dagger jutting from Kreios’ chest, the demon raised its wickedly curved black sword high overhead, savoring the coming strike at the heart of his foe.
Its stinking festering body tensed in preparation for the final blow. Abruptly, however, the thing retched; black liquid gurgled up from its throat, and its sword fell clanging to the floor. Its mouth hung open wide, and in the light of the Sword Kreios could see the sharpness of steel sticking through the beast from the back of its head, protruding from its gaping mouth.
Zedkiel!
Kreios pulled the beast’s dagger free of his own chest and turned it homeward, burying the smoking tip within the sickening folds of the robe of the demon. He rose up, ignoring the pain shooting through his ribcage, and swung the Sword violently across its neck, severing the head. The demon fell to the dirt floor, dead. Tacky blood spilled from its body. Zedkiel put his foot on the head and pulled his sword free, standing over the lifeless form with contempt.
“Are you wounded?” Zedkiel looked at Kreios and leaned down to examine his injury.
“He missed my lung. I can already feel it healing. I will be whole by