I faintly nod. He places my blade before me, and I can feel my wounds close. I can feel every hurt and ache cease. I no longer feel the tiredness of having fought with no breaks for a day and a half. Oddly, his eyes upon me are sad, where before they were full of pride and regal power. Death against him would be a worthy way to end my existence. Death, upon his blade, would be something that could rally whatever was left of the forces of light, to hold on for a little while longer. I make the choice to be a martyr. For I have no other choice. Not if I want to be true to myself. No matter how much that little voice inside pleads with me, begs me to lay down my blade and bend the knee. I do not listen, I merely watch as the Dark Lord draws his own dark blade, and stands before me.

A duel. I throw everything I have into it. My every thrust faster than the human eye can see. My every swing deadly and simultaneously a method of repositioning my body to another angle of attacking. And yet it doesn't matter. My blessed sword is met with his void-blade at every attempt. His eyes follow me, sad and deep as they are. He only defends against my strikes, does not attempt to hit me, only shows me an unbreakable defence. I understand what he wants. He knows that I want to put down my blade. That I want to cast away my free will and let him be the architect of the future. But my will keeps me in the fight. It takes a long time for me to find an angle where I might get in a strike. It is an attack of opportunity, and it will be risky to attempt it, but I have no choice, his defence is otherwise unbreakable. I feint to the side, and go low, only to use the momentum of his blade's movement to propel me upwards.

For a brief second, I can see a chance to strike him down. But it is for naught. I feel his cold void-blade enter through my chest. Not enough to kill me immediately, but a fatal strike nonetheless. I fall to the ground, wheezing, as his blade leaves my body. I feel weak. Strong arms, the Dark Lord's arms, pick me up. He looks down upon me, his face marred with corruption from dark magics, yet still undeniably handsome. He looks inconsolable. More like a man who had to kill his own son, than a tyrant killing an enemy.

''It did not have to come to this. Even now, I can save you. I grant you the choice of life, again and again, and you pick death. Strange and beautiful hero, that you are, you stubborn fool. You, who could have been a great boon for the world and its many people, you who could have done many great things, if you'd only joined my side. There is still time.''

I shake my head. He truly believes he is making the world a better place. Maybe he is. But I do think that his future is the right one. And I'd rather die with my integrity, my will, and my honour intact, than to surrender as many heroes who've tried what I've done have chosen to do before me. His hand gently caresses my face. Odd, that a man I've never known personally should do that, but he sees in me something that he thought wonderful. Someone who could help him, who could understand him maybe. Someone with a will nearly as strong as his own. I feel so cold. And it is hard to breathe. It is like being a child again, being held by this Dark Lord, his enormous form creating a certain size difference. And it is like being held once more by my father, who'd gently rock me to sleep in his arms when I was a child.

I close my eyes. And I breathe out for the last time.

/r/ApocalypseOwl