The Wrath of a Weapon
The Alcardian commander stood at the center of the battlefield, an ominous presence wrapped in the glow of the artifact. The air around him vibrated with power, and even the most seasoned imperial soldiers hesitated as they approached.
Everett, bloodied and fatigued, tightened his grip on his sword. His breaths came in shallow gasps, but his resolve was unshaken. He had faced worse odds before—hadn't he?
"Everett of the Empire," the commander called out, his voice carrying above the din of battle. "They send one man to stop an army. Is this desperation, or arrogance?"
Everett didn't respond. Instead, he raised his sword, channeling the last reserves of his magic. A gust of wind swirled around him, carrying the scent of blood and ash.
The commander laughed, raising the artifact. "Then let us see if the legend can bleed."
Clash of Titans
The first strike came from the Alcardian commander, a wave of dark energy rippling outward. Everett dodged, countering with a blast of lightning that scorched the ground where the commander had stood moments before.
Their duel was a storm within the chaos of battle. Soldiers from both sides gave the two combatants a wide berth, unwilling to be caught in the crossfire.
Everett pushed himself to match the commander's strength, his sword moving like a blur. But the artifact's power was overwhelming. Each clash sent shockwaves through the air, forcing Everett further back.
A misstep cost him—an arc of energy from the artifact struck his shoulder, burning through his armor. He staggered, blood trickling down his arm, but he didn't falter.
"You fight well," the commander said, circling Everett like a predator. "But even you must see the futility of this. Alone, you cannot win."
The Battlefield Crumbles
The larger battle raged on, with the imperial reinforcements struggling to hold their ground. The soldiers, untrained and uncoordinated, fell like wheat before the scythe of the Alcardian army.
Everett could hear their screams, but he didn't look back. He couldn't afford to.
The ground beneath him trembled as the commander unleashed another devastating attack. Everett raised a barrier of stone to shield himself, but the impact shattered it, sending him sprawling.
He coughed, tasting blood. His vision blurred, and for the first time in years, doubt crept into his mind.
Desperation
Drawing on sheer willpower, Everett forced himself to his feet. He focused his magic into his sword, the blade glowing with an intense blue light.
He charged.
The commander met him head-on, their weapons colliding with an explosion of force. Everett poured everything he had into the attack, pushing the commander back several paces.
For a moment, it seemed like he might succeed.
But the artifact pulsed with a malevolent light, and the commander's strength surged. He deflected Everett's strike and delivered a crushing blow to his chest, sending him flying.
Everett hit the ground hard, his sword slipping from his grasp. Pain radiated through his body, but he forced himself to crawl toward the blade.
The commander loomed over him. "This is where your legend ends," he said, raising the artifact.
The Fall
Before the commander could strike, an explosion erupted nearby. Everett glanced over to see an imperial mage launching a desperate counterattack. The distraction was brief, but it gave Everett the opening he needed.
He lunged for his sword, gripping it tightly. With a cry of defiance, he unleashed a surge of magic, blasting the commander backward.
But the effort drained the last of his strength. He collapsed, unable to rise again.
Around him, the battlefield was a sea of chaos. The imperial forces were in full retreat, their lines shattered. The Alcardian army advanced relentlessly, pushing toward the city.
Everett could only watch as his vision darkened.
Aftermath
When Everett awoke, it was night. The battlefield was eerily silent, the air heavy with the stench of death. He sat up slowly, his body aching with every movement.
The imperial forces were gone, their banners trampled into the mud. The Alcardians had claimed the field, their victory undeniable.
Everett stared at the carnage, his mind numb. He had failed—not just the empire, but himself.
For the first time, he questioned the path he had chosen. Was it worth it? Had it ever been?
The sound of distant horns jolted him from his thoughts. The Alcardian army was moving toward the city.
Everett stood, his legs unsteady but his resolve hardening. He couldn't stop them here, but he wasn't done yet.
He turned and began the long, painful walk back to the capital, preparing for what was to come.