POV Count:
The old man stood in the middle of the swamp, his boots digging into the mud after the ice melted.
The trees around him were bent or uprooted. Bleeding and burned soldiers were sewn all over, panting and squealing.
"Mortal, you are so selfish to even sacrifice your soldiers, dooming them all to die just with your one decision."
The count felt anger seeping into his bones as he raised his sword, he knew there was no way for him to win, but he was dead set on fighting to his last breath.
'My soldiers are dying for me. I can only do the same for them.'
The wyrm opened its mouth, hiding high in the sky, out of the effective reach of his sword. It was just casually flapping its wings, hovering about the swamp without worry, making the count even angrier.
Its eyes flashed in bright golden light that drowned his mind. He felt fear and desperation, his resolution and anger fizzling out.
