Realm Lord

Arthur was fighting tooth and nail, his muscles burning with each swing of his blade. One grimhound after another fell before him. Yet for each beast he felled, another scar was added to his ever-growing collection—a tapestry of pain etched across his skin in crimson lines.

The rain had plastered his hair to his forehead, rivulets of water mixing with blood as they tracked down his face. The storm above continued its furious symphony, providing a grim soundtrack to what might be his final battle.

But Arthur couldn’t hold out much longer. His movements, once fluid and precise, were becoming increasingly desperate. He was getting caught more frequently, dealing fewer killing blows and simply defending against the onslaught. His breath came in rapid, shallow gasps as his stamina drained like water through cupped hands. The initial rush of adrenaline was fading, and the pain of his accumulated injuries built with each passing moment, threatening to overwhelm him.

’It won’t be much longer now,’ he thought grimly, gritting his teeth against a fresh wave of agony that shot through his wounded thigh.

Arthur parried another beast’s attack, the impact sending jarring vibrations up his arm. He pivoted on his good leg and turned around just in time to shove his blade through another grimhound that had attempted to flank him. The creature’s otherworldly howl was cut short as steel pierced through corrupted flesh and bone, its glowing eyes dimming as death claimed it.

Every once in a while, he’d catch sight of the Reaper in the chaos. It was drawing closer every second, menacingly inching forward step by step. Its patient advance was perhaps more terrifying than any rapid attack could be; it knew the outcome was inevitable.

Arthur’s attention lingered on the Reaper for slightly too long and paid for his momentary lapse in concentration. Razor-sharp claws gashed across his back, tearing into the flesh beneath his tattered robes. He yelped in pain, the sound escaping unbidden from his lips as he stumbled forward before managing to turn around to face this new threat.

The grimhound that had wounded him lunged again, jaws snapping for his throat. Arthur, drawing on reserves of strength he didn’t know he still possessed, sidestepped the attack and brought his sword down in a powerful arc. The blade sliced clean through the creature’s body, separating it into two twitching halves that collapsed to the sodden ground.

Arthur took a moment to survey the battlefield, his chest heaving with exertion. He’d probably killed about seven or eight hounds by now, their remains scattered across the muddied terrain. Aziel was dealing with the creatures less swiftly than Arthur without his ability, but between the two of them, there were probably still no less than twelve grimhounds left.