Alaric's breath came in ragged gasps as he steadied his blade, the dark red glow of his blood magic pulsating along its edge. His armor, already battered and stained with the blood of the fallen, bore fresh cuts where Grimga's brutal strength and Gideon's ruthless precision had tested his defenses. But he held firm. He had to. He was the last line between these monsters and the remnants of Noctis.
Gideon circled Alaric like a wolf sizing up its prey, his smirk never faltering. "You're bleeding, Alaric," he remarked, nodding to the gash on the knight's shoulder where his dagger had found flesh. "It suits you."
Alaric tightened his grip on his sword, refusing to acknowledge the pain. "You speak like a man who's never felt true fear, Gideon. Maybe it's time you learned."
With a surge of energy, Alaric launched himself forward, his sword slashing in a swift, deadly arc. The crimson energy crackled, extending the blade's reach as it tore through the air toward Gideon's throat.
But Gideon was fast.
He twisted, moving with liquid grace, the edge of Alaric's blade missing him by a hair's breadth. Before Alaric could recover, Gideon struck. A dagger flashed in his hand, aimed for Alaric's ribs.
Alaric turned just in time, deflecting the blade with his gauntlet. Sparks flew, and he pivoted to deliver a crushing kick. His boot slammed into Gideon's chest, sending him skidding backward.
Grimga laughed, watching the exchange with amusement. "Oh, you're putting up quite a fight! But tell me, Alaric, what happens when you run out of breath?"
Alaric didn't answer. He couldn't. His lungs burned, his arms ached, and every muscle screamed for relief. But he held his ground, fueled by something far stronger than pain—duty.
He couldn't let them win.
Grimga gripped her massive club, the jagged metal plating along its edges glistening with fresh gore. "Enough playing," she said, her voice thick with anticipation. "It's time to end this."
With terrifying speed for someone her size, Grimga lunged, her weapon coming down in a devastating arc. Alaric barely rolled away before the club shattered the ground where he stood, sending chunks of stone flying. He tried to counter, swinging upward at her exposed side, but Grimga twisted her body mid-swing, avoiding the strike.
She backhanded him with enough force to send him sprawling.
The world tilted. His vision blurred. He felt the warmth of blood pooling in his mouth.
Gideon was on him before he could react, pinning his arm down with a swift stomp.
"You're strong," Gideon admitted, pressing the tip of his dagger against Alaric's throat. "But strength alone doesn't win wars."
Alaric growled, his free hand grasping at the hilt of his sword. With a final, desperate burst of energy, he called upon his blood magic, channeling every ounce of pain, every wound, into a last-ditch attack.
The ground trembled.
A crimson shockwave erupted from Alaric, forcing Gideon and Grimga back. Blood-red tendrils of energy lashed out, wrapping around his sword, forging it into a burning beacon of power.
He stood on shaky legs, raising the sword high. "Even if I fall, Noctis will never belong to you," he spat.
Grimga rolled her shoulders, unfazed. "You just don't know when to quit."
With an ear-splitting roar, she charged.
Alaric swung with all his might, his blade colliding with Grimga's club. The impact sent a deafening shockwave through the battlefield, the force enough to crack the stones beneath them. But Grimga was relentless. She pressed forward, overpowering Alaric inch by inch.
His knees buckled.
His arms quivered.
Then—
A dagger slipped between the cracks in his armor.
Gideon.
The blade buried itself deep in Alaric's side. His vision darkened as searing pain flooded his body. His grip loosened, his strength fading.
Grimga grinned.
With one final, merciless swing, she brought her club crashing down.
The sound of breaking bone echoed through the air.
Alaric collapsed.
His sword slipped from his grasp, the crimson energy flickering and vanishing into the night. His body convulsed, blood pooling beneath him. The battle was over.
But his mind was elsewhere.
Memories of his sister.
As the pain dulled and the cold crept in, his thoughts drifted.
Sarah.
His little sister.
And Nox.
His little brother.
They had both been so small when he last saw them—Sarah's bright green eyes filled with hope, and Nox's wide, curious gaze fixed on him as if trying to memorize every detail before he left. Sarah had clung to his arm, begging him not to go. "Come back soon, Alaric!" she had said, her voice so full of life. Nox had stood silently beside her, lips pressed together, too proud to cry but unable to hide the worry in his eyes.
Would they ever know what happened to him?
Would they be safe?
He tried to move, to speak, but his body refused to listen. His vision blurred, the world fading into a haze of shadows and blood.
Please, he prayed silently. If nothing else, let them live. Let them never know this horror.
His lips trembled as he forced out a final whisper. "Sarah… Nox… be safe."
The last thing he saw was the flicker of torches in the distance, the faint sound of cries and battle still echoing in the night.
Then nothing.
Grimga wiped the blood from her weapon, exhaling with satisfaction. "Well, that was fun," she mused, nudging Alaric's lifeless form with her boot.
Gideon crouched beside the fallen knight, tilting his head. "He fought well," he admitted. "A shame, really. A few different choices, and he could have been an interesting ally."
Grimga scoffed. "Sentimental, are we?"
Gideon smirked. "Just pragmatic."
The sound of approaching footsteps caught their attention. More soldiers? Survivors? It didn't matter.
Grimga stretched, rolling her shoulders. "Shall we continue, dear?"
Gideon rose to his feet, flipping his dagger between his fingers. "Of course," he said smoothly. "After all, we still have a city to finish."
As the night stretched on, the echoes of battle carried through the ruins of Noctis.
And the blood flowed.