Chapter 63: The Reaper of the Roses (2)
Thunder boomed through the stormy sky, a deafening crescendo that rattled bones and shook courage. Forks of brilliant lightning illuminated the churning clouds above, casting the world below in stark, momentary daylight before plunging it back into shadow. Each flash revealed the grim scene—two warriors surrounded by death.
Arthur gripped his sword with shaky hands, the pommel slick with sweat and rain. He stood back to back with Aziel, feeling the warmth of his companion as their only comfort in this forsaken place. Aziel readied his spear, its polished tip gleaming with each lightning strike, a silent promise of the violence to come.
The wind howled around them, carrying the stench of their enemies—a putrid mixture of rot and something otherworldly that made Arthur’s stomach turn. His teeth chattered uncontrollably, partly from the cold, partly from fear that had settled deep in his bones.
"There anyway you think we win this?" Arthur asked, his voice barely audible above the storm’s fury. The question hung in the air, weighted with desperate hope despite the obvious answer.
Aziel didn’t respond immediately. Arthur felt his companion’s back expand with a deep inhalation before releasing a heavy sigh.
"No..." Aziel finally replied, his voice steady despite the grim admission. "But we can at least go out swinging."
Arthur felt a solitary tear track down his left cheek, warm against his cold skin. He nodded, though Aziel couldn’t see the gesture. The motion was more for himself—acceptance of what was to come.
’Looks like I won’t be able to live for them after all... well, at least I tried.’
Soon after what felt like ages of waiting in anticipation, the perimeter of darkness around them stirred. The first grimhound attacked from Arthur’s side, its massive form lunging forward with surprising speed. These creatures were slightly weaker and dumber than the nightreavers, their movements more predictable.