His sword shines a burning hot white in the golden rays of sunlight, its hilt adorned by the royal crest of a centaur. It is known as The Dawn, a sword that can strike down any demon as long as the wielder has a strong enough will. Markus of Glass Hill stands in his sapphire crystalline armor, The Dawn in hand, ready to take on the challenge laid down by his nemesis. A warrior of justice who has vowed to protect the land with his unmatched swordsmanship, Markus’ feats of heroism and his deep compassion are legendary. Despite being of royal blood, he lives the life of a commoner. His crest is the only indicator that he was once marked to ascend the throne before becoming a protector of the weak. Markus waits in a clearing of the Emerald Forest, the usual meeting spot. Hopefully, for the last time.
Out from the trees, clad in blood ruby armor, emerges Azagthoth, straddling a nightmarish ax crafted from flesh and bone. It is a weapon of pure evil known as the Devil’s Claw, whose deep wounds curse the victim's body to rot instantaneously. Azagthoth is a herald of Zencrux, an ancient god trapped in a dead dimension. Zencrux longs to cross over into reality so that he may bring annihilation to the world. However, Azagthoth betrayed his apocalyptic mission for his own chaotic whims. He razes villages and cities for his own pleasure, doing any vile task if paid well enough. Azagthoth clashed time and time again with Markus during his exploits, and now the two have decided to have one final fight that has lasted seven days. Each battle became a seemingly endless stalemate, and now, on the seventh day, both just want it to be over.
“Damn you, Azagthoth! Why must we continue this pointless fight?”
“And yet you still come ready to battle every time, blueblood. Seems to me that you want to finish this just as badly as I do.”
With that, the two clash. The sparks of metal striking metal swirl around the two combatants like stars. Azagthoth slashes his ax vertically. Markus parries the attack with his hilt and counters with a roundhouse kick. Markus thrusts his blade to impale the foul cretin, but Azagthoth manages a slight dodge and then pulls Markus in for a vicious headbutt.
Their conflict of ideology morphs into a contest of raw spirit. The clang of steel grows louder and more distorted as they swing their weapons wildly at each other. Within the echoes of violence, mother, why, as the royal family, do not help our people? Is helping the weak not the one true justice? The Devil’s Claw begins to chip under the strain, so hungry and cold. Is this my fate, to die alone in a cave with no one to care about me? Memories and emotions begin to spill out from the two until, at last, The Dawn obliterates Azagthoth and his weapon.
Kneeling before smoldering remains, Markus says a small prayer to send off a worthy adversary.
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