Blood.
Blood dripped from his brow. The stone floor below him stained with crimson and covered by the dust of centuries passed. Dead vines and old moss clung to the ancient stone walls, carved delicately with the art of deceased men.
“No better place to die than hallowed grounds.”
The voice echoed into him, but he didn’t hear. It felt wrong. His strength was gone, and his doom was waiting, but he’d meet it with sword in hand, whatever it was. He hefted his longsword overhead, aiming towards the voice but landing only on ancient stone. A flash of steel from his right, an arming sword thrusting towards him.
Pivot, regain distance and breathe. The thrust missed, and the spectre stared with the complacency of a cat playing with its food. He would use that.
A foot forward, and a horizontal slash. The arming sword came up to deflect only to be forced aside as the longswords weight cut past, and into the shoulder of the spectre. The steel dragged through, hitting stone. He felt the arming sword draw across his ribs softly.
A playful wound he thought, dropping to his knees. Another slash aimed for his shoulder approached, but he threw himself to the ground to avoid it. He rolled sideways and rose wearily.
“Struggle does not accelerate your ascension to the heavens. Why resist?”
The spectre spoke but only a demon’s voice resonated in his ears.
“I don’t intend to die”
“No man ever does”
The arming sword thrust fast, towards his chest. Five fingers wrapped around it before it landed, a steady light emanating from his eyes. He was on hallowed ground.
The form of the spectre began to unravel. Cracks formed in its faux-flesh, with streaks of light escaping from its form. The spectre began to disintegrate, its otherworldly body flaking off in pieces of dust and ash.
Steel clanged against the stone. It was done, and for now, so was he. His doom could remain waiting, for after he caught his breath.
Blessed be Levian and his Holy troops.
![[AF]Tyrone](/forums/data/avatars/m/1/1296.jpg?1608403145){kind=avatar}