It was bleak, he noted vaguely out of his peripheral vision, dreary— dead bodies lay strewn about like lego once a small child was done with it, nothing more than collateral damage of it's burning wrath. Shades of varying greys, much like the world itself as he'd come to realise throughout this nightmare. His lungs rattled as he tried to breathe through the burning pain, struggling to shakily prop himself up on the claymore as he glared viciously at it.
Could it even be considered an 'it'? Could one call it anything *other* than what it truly was: the end of the world? Surely, *surely* there must be *some* way to slow it down? To stall it, hold it back and keep them alive just a bit longer? There *had* to be a way to stop it, if only temporarily. He liked to think of it as Ragnarok, or perhaps Armageddon.
The destruction of the world was inevitable, the concept itself ineffable; he *knew* that— but by the *Gods*, he would postpone it as long as he could.
His figure was wracked with harsh coughs once more, and he had no choice but to drop to one knee and keep his hold on the massive sword as steady as he could— if he lost it, the sword, it would mean the end of everything everyone knew, as they knew it.
He refused to go down without one *hell* of a fight.
It's hideous frills, sort of like those of the frilled neck lizard he used to have as a pet, ruffled as it hissed. The sound was low, shaking the core of the very earth itself as it stood over him, glaring acidly. An icy shiver rolled down his spine, and he suddenly felt far too cold, his blood freezing in his veins. But his fury burned hotter, melting the ice, and he stood with a growl of pain and a grimace.
He wrenched the sword out of the ground and held it up, breaths still rattling audibly in his chest. He was at his limits, but he *had* to stop this thing. He had no other choice.
...
It was Fate, wasn't it? In a world of greys, surrounded by the corpses of people he might have once known, blurred faces in the background of his mind, here he stood; facing off against this— this *thing.* A true battle of white and black.