There never was any chance of victory. Not really. No fortress can hold the line against the Dark Lord. No siege can last forever. No army, no matter who backs them, their righteousness, and their strength, can do anything more than provide a temporary setback for the forces of the World Empire, under the rule of the Dark Lord. His mages are more numerous, more disciplined and well-trained. His gryphon-riders outmatches every aerial force that the dwindling forces of the light can muster. His agents turn the population against us with ease. In every conquered kingdom, resistance is futile. In every city, the Dark Lord wins the loyalty of the conquered by being, on a purely socio-economic level, a better ruler than the old order. He knows the value of merit, over the mere accident of birth, he knows the strength in letting people rise to the occasion, rather than keeping them in their place. Perhaps, if we had not been blinded by our arrogance, by our ancient bloodlines and our stratified feudal lives, we would have had the loyalty, resources, and people, that is now held firmly in the iron grip of the Dark Lord.

So as kingdom after kingdom falls, one can say that the Dark Lord is undefeatable, and we might as well give up. Surrender now while we can. But that is not right. Sure, life is better for the people under the rule of the Dark Lord, but they have no notion of his final goals. Of unseating the gods themselves, of taking the mantle of power from the devils and demons. Of assuming a position atop a golden throne that will allow him to win forever. There will be no freedom, except what he gives. There will be no chance at a life without his enduring rule. If he wins, then the future of the universe itself is his iron will dominating everything forever. A safe future, but one without freedom. Without hope. We are not perfect. Our side is not without its flaws, but there were a chance of a better future, when the forces of light held dominion over the universe. That one day, the races of the world would unite and free themselves from the old order, and establish a world free from tyrants.

It is similar to what he is doing, but he is simply exchanging tyrants that are, with less horrible tyrants to come. True freedom, where all mortal races are equal, and free to make choices on their own, is not what he wants. Is he the Dark Lord, who crushes empires, butchers nobles like cattle, breaks the walls of the elven cities with his own hand, burns ancient palaces to the ground to make room for his own projects, crushes his enemies, see them driven before him, and hears the lamentation of their spouses? Yes. Is he the same Dark Lord who builds hospitals, schools, orphanages, and social housing, feeds the hungry, clothes the naked, and cares for his subordinates? Yes. After all, a benevolent tyrant is still a tyrant. His good deeds do not wash out the evil he does. In fact, it makes them worse. How can someone care for the orphans, provide homes for the homeless, encourage schooling, and at the same time lead Dark Legions that topples the gilded thrones of the world, killing thousands, maybe millions?

That is why I have no choice. That is why my blade even now carves through his infernal armies. Why my sword glows with a light that cannot be extinguished, that the darkness cannot destroy. That is why despite the unending legions that he has at his commands, I will keep fighting. I will not stop even as dark spells try to crush me, only for my own unending will to turn them aside; I have no choice but to try anyway, no matter how bleak the battle, no matter how futile the fight. Is there any other choice as I ram my blade into the skull of one of his demonic generals. As I hold aloft my blessed banner inspiring my fellows around me. Is there any other choice than to keep fighting? To stand against this unimaginable force, who may have had good intentions, and may do good deeds, but will in the name of progress and a better future, create a world where good is mired in bad deeds and evil wills, until all that is good will be done in his name, and will be done upon a foundation of bones and blood. As my holy shield breaks in my hand, against a cavalcade of orcish knights charging at me, I keep fighting. Because I have no other choice. As my dead comrades rise around me, raised by the necromancers under the Dark Lord's command, I keep fighting. Because I have no other choice.

Even as the Dark Lord's personal guards go against me, these captains of battle, who have proved themselves on a thousand battlefields, I don't stop. I cannot. These, who have slain worthy knights of great renown, elven warrior-kings of endless prowess, and powerful archmages beyond count; together they could tear down the armies of many kingdoms on their own. I cannot slay them, but I can hold my own. I swing my blade with precision and accuracy that is almost inhuman. Perhaps even now the gods of war are riding my body like a man rides a horse, making me into an instrument of carnage. I parry with effortless movements, just the same as my opponents. They must be opposed. If they, and their master wins, they will make a world of order and progress that will never be free. Because it will be so good, like a gilded cage, where the people shall want for nothing, and never rise up against their masters. Under the old lords, things were bad, but the anger was building. We were on the cusp of revolution. Of change. And instead he came, as he does now to the circle in the middle of the battlefield, where I am surrounded by his elites. He took charge, aroused the people to anger and rage, and made himself an emperor, where we needed none.

Even now as I stand before him, I feel his charisma. I feel his will, greater than my own. It is almost enough to make me bow before him. To pledge my sword and life to him, as many champions have done before. But I manage to steel myself. To gather unseen strength, allowing me to instead strike at him. Instead of dodging he simply catches my blessed blade in his hand. And with a single movement he disarms me, and looks curiously at the blade, as if he is admiring the craft. I have nothing left. My spells are used. My bow was broken early in the fight, and I seem to have misplaced my dagger in the eye of a cyclops that was under his sway. He turns to look me in the eyes. I see how easily he took charge, in those eyes. His will itself is radiating out of them, like a spell that makes you understand him as an authority. I want to look down, to apologise for staring into those beautiful orbs of his. And yet I am defiant. He must be opposed. The Dark Lord must under all circumstances be opposed. And I will not break. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

''Your will is strong.''

His voice is full of pure power. Of raw dominance. Of fatherly love even. Less the voice one would use to speak to an enemy, more the voice of an impressed teacher, if anything. I can only nod. If I were to speak, I do not know if I could resist bowing, but I must keep resisting. No matter what, I have only one option, only one choice, resistance.

''Were you to bow down before me now, and swear me your loyalty, I would grant you the rulership and position in my empire that a person of such indomitable will deserves. Few have come this far, and remained loyal to themselves. I can respect that you do not bend the knee with ease.''

I say nothing, nor do I move an inch. His every word drips with power. His every movement was that of a true leader. Even now, staring into those deep dark eyes, I could feel a part of me desiring to bow, to obey, to join him and perhaps act as a force in his regime that would lessen the severity of the dark acts he will do. And yet, I remain loyal to myself. I have no other choice. Not if I want to remain myself. Remain free.

''On the other hand, I can grant you a worthy death. A battle against me. One-on-one. Your many wounds healed by my flesh-menders. Your strength restored completely by spell and potion. Your blade against mine. You will not win. My victory is inevitable. But your death can be a glorious one. Your body will be buried with honour, as if you had been one of my own closest and most capable officers. I would grant you that, should you prefer it to bowing before me.''

I had a really stupid idea. Over 600 people tried before me many of them had armies. They’re all dead am now and I was just gonna be another casualty. But I did my due diligence, swords, magic, bows, poison they all failed and ended up dead. So I decided to try something really dumb. I worked my way in to becoming a chief in the dark lords kitchens. And I waited and took notes, I figured out what the dark lord didn’t eat and finally I had an option, lemons! Maybe he had a citrus allergy? When I was supposed to cook for him I put lemon in his meal and waited. Didn’t take long for a guard to come for me and I was escorted to the dark lord still alive. “Are you the one who made my chicken?” I nodded fully expecting to be killed. ”That was one of the best chickens I ever had. You used lemons in it right? You had some guts to try lemon when no one else had. Continue to be bold I look forward to your next meal.” And with that I left. Yeah it was a stupid idea guess I’ll have to keep trying. The chief assassin never gives up!

The fortress stood looming before her. Lightening flashed in the sky illuminating it's tall dark spires, large stone walls and iron spikes lining their tops. It was, to say the least, intimidating.

In the fortress ahead was the most fearsome man who ever lived. No one knew his real name, he was simply known as the Dark Lord. No one could remember when he appeared here, or why he came. They knew only that he was to be feared and loathed. The eater of young, defiler of women, and also known to be downright rude. To say he was unwelcome to the people of BrightWood village was an understatement.

So, the people of BrightWood had secretly gathered one evening to come up with a plan to rid their wonderful village of this dark hanging cloud. It had taken them all of 30 minutes before they had their solution. Which is what had led to this very moment.

The young woman stood at the edge of the forest that led up to the fortress of the Dark Lord. A small dirt path wound it's way up the hill to the big wooden gates. Small flames bobbed up and down along the side of the path, no wax or wick to hold them there. The young woman glanced up the path, her eyes that were a dark brown, looked almost black in the dim reflection of the flames. She heaved a sigh before taking a step forward and beginning her way up the path.

Candy thought back to how she had gotten where she was now. Never one for a great life, even her name was something of a reminder of just how unlucky she was. Someone had once told her "you give me the same feeling I get when I first eat a sour candy." Somehow, after roars of laughter, she had been dubbed 'Candy'. Her real name was Caroline. Caroline L. Ryner. Candy is what everyone used though, and so she had accepted it, like all other things.

See Candy was born unlucky. Or at least she thought so. Always handed the short end of the stick, always in the crowd but never the reason for one, just one card short of a full house. So it didn't surprise her when she was the next one chosen to take on the Dark Lord. They said the lottery pull was random, but Candy was starting to suspect otherwise. After all, the only ones chosen thus far had been like her, the outcasts.

Candy shrugged her shoulders as if dismissing the thought. She pushed her long and tangled black hair from her face and continued walking up the path, shoving her hands into the pockets of her hooded sweater. The wind was picking up, bringing with it the promise of a storm. She quickened her step, whether from fear or excitement she wasn't sure.

Finally she reached the great big wooden doors. Her body began to shake. This was it. She was about to die. Or so she assumed she was, as the others that had been sent had never returned. Her body shivering, she lifted her hand to knock against the thick doors.

Before she could even bring her fist down to knock the doors gave a great heave and sigh as they were pulled open. Candy jumped back, startled. As the doors opened and her eyes adjusted she saw the frame of a man standing before her.

"I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THESE GAMES!!!" a deep voice bellowed. The man stepped forward from the doorway, the light from inside illuminating him to her. He was...a guy. Just a guy. About average height. Short dark hair, with light blue eyes and round cheeks. He was in a robe. Just an average house robe, even complete with slippers.

"You! Are you the one who keeps knocking on my door and running away every week?! It's not very funny you know! Twice now you've made me ruin a perfectly good spell." He crossed his arms over his chest, his brow furrowed as he looked at her disapprovingly.

Candy opened her mouth to speak but found she had lost her voice. She closed it, cleared her throat and tried again. "Uhh, I...this is my first time here...." she managed to spit out.

The man moved a little closer and looked her over. "Then what exactly are you doing here?" he asked.

"Well you see, it's just...uhm...." she began before a thought struck her, "Wait, what did you mean by knocking and running away? So you didn't kill them?" she blurted out, a thing she did rather often without thinking. Surly she had angered him and now she'd be next.

The mans face momentarily fell into one of shock before his brows once again furrowed forward. "Kill? What on earth..." he said with a sigh, "I haven't killed anyone. Once a week now for about two months I've had someone come and knock on my door and by the time I answer no one is there but I can see them running away through the woods!"

He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "Now, what is it you wanted?"

"Oh!" Candy exclaimed. "Well, actually, you see....the village people would like you to...leave..." she trailed off, her body tensing ready for the attack.

"Leave!? What on earth for!?"

Candy began to rub her hands together, folding them over one another this way and that. "Well, I mean...don't you think it could have something to do with the baby eating and, ya know, defiling women thing?" She asked nervously, her heart beating a million miles a minute.

The amount of emotions she witnessed cross the Dark Lord's face were far too many to happen in the span of just a couple of seconds. What finally came to rest on his face was a look of pure, well, bafflement. His face had turned a deep red, his eyes had seemed larger and a look of pure confusion washed over him.

"Eating babies and defiling women!? What in Gods name is wrong with you people!"

"Woah, hey now man, don't lump me in with them. I don't even want to be here but I 'won' the lottery." Seeing the look on his face worsen she continued with a sigh, "Every week the village gets together and has a lottery to decide who is going to come deal with getting rid of the Dark Lord," she paused her and looked at him, "that's you."

He nodded his head and rolled his eyes but did not interrupt.

"We are to get rid of you by any means necessary. They say that everyone's name is in there but I don't believe it. They just send the ones they don't want in the village anymore." she said with a shrug.

The man stood quiet for a long moment before heaving a sigh, as he did so his body seemed to relax a bit.

"Gods, this always happens." he said while rubbing his eyes between his fingers and thumb. He lifted his gaze to meet hers. "Look I don't eat babies and I don't defile women. I don't even like women!" He said while throwing his hands up in the air. "This is ridiculous. Anywhere I've moved this happens. People are just..."

"Awful, horrible, disgusting...." Candy added with a grin on her face. She rather liked this guy.

He laughed at this and nodded. "Yes, indeed." He paused for a moment and looking at Candy. "So, how awful are the village people anyways?"

"Oh, the worst of the worst."

"Hmm..." he stood to the side, sweeping his arm inward. "Would you like to come in for some tea? I have a wonderful book 'Village Curses: How and when to use them' that I think you would find very interesting." he smiled at her, revealing a long line of jagged pearly whites.

Candy beamed back at him, practically skipping over herself to get inside. "I think you are correct in that assumption!" Candy followed the man inside, instantly warmed and with a new feeling of excitement. This was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

🆕 New Here? ✏ Writing Help? 📢 News 💬 Discord

I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please contact the moderators of this subreddit if you have any questions or concerns.

[deleted]