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The Shadow Lord

The Shadow Lord

He Stood with his blade in hand and slowly rotated it past his waist. His movements were refined, perfect in their nature as he focused in his intent. His hand moved the blade passed his eyes, then back out of sight… He didn’t not to watch it, he knew it had fallen right… For to him to wield such a thing against the force now that stood. This was like second nature, the same as breathing, though not as a good. He was a weapon to the finest of words, a killer at heart, one that didn’t want to hurt. Trained to his core, he knew what he was to do wasn’t right. But it was the only way to save any of their lives.

They all stood against him, they all surrounded him in form. So many had turned now against his will. So many enemies now raged as if a storm, yet he refused to break. He refused to back down… For if he did, the realms would crack then shatter and splinter until it was but ash upon the ground… all he could do is fight…

They came at him one by one with intention, to destroy to maim, to kill. They came at him as if a horde rampaging in the streets. They came after him as an army of individuals , that sought retribution… Their feet fell one after the next shaking the ground. Yet even though there was many of them, he was not what they had expected. He wasn’t weak nor did he have a reason to die… the man they attempted slaughter could end each and every life…

His blade danced within the winds, it formed to its every  curve. His actions were sharp and fast, yet as close as his arms moved to deaths true birth. He struck out over and over again, though in truth he did not enjoy. He hated what he had to do. He hated this act for it was cruel, but the others had to see. That to stand against him was to cast their souls free… To slaughter those that he had come to protect was the most violent of crimes… It was contradictory, but if they wouldn’t listen, then they had obeyed in fears sublime…

Again, and again the blade met his foe. It struck the flesh and let their crimson blood flow. Faster than any of them could blink, he would strike true and deep, within their skin would sink the razor-sharp steel tooth meant to cut their meat.

He growled and he hissed with each and every blow, as puddles formed his broken heart slowed… But again, he had to strike… Again, he had to defend his life… There was no ending to this madness in sight. They wanted him, they wanted his blood. Yet he had only come here to give them a chance to defend or to run.

Hours passed him by as he worked with all his might. As if a tactical surgeon, he struck, killing with every single strike He too felt this pain, he remembered each face. He remembered as they laid upon the bloody ground, he remembered each and every time they fell. Each death permeated his mind. Each kill destroyed him a thousand times. Yet he could not stop, he could not rest. He could not give up his own life.

Day turned to night and day once more. Nothing seemed to slow the violent horde… His blade dulled, his muscles tired, and yet, he could not allow himself, his will to expire. He fought true, he fought hard,  and he fought beyond the will of any god! He stood his ground and swung again, until they either broke of the last of them would finally end.

He fought not for himself, nor for the will of an empire. But for the will of the weak, and the innocent in danger, true enemies desired. He fought for those that he struck down to show them what would come if they didn’t back down. He fought for the kingdoms in which he in truth once had hate. More of all, he fought for the realms that he had laid to waste, to save them all from their own fate.

Yet no matter how much he cried and killed, they would keep coming, refusing to break, refusing to heel. He was not their enemy… Nor was he their friend… He was but a humble shield that would not break nor bend. He was the sands of time. He was the sword… Most of all, he was the shadow lord…

With one last swipe unto the air, he fell to his knees in broken despair. They had all given up their lives. Instead of taking his help, they had chosen to die. There was not left a soul, to protect, to help let go. Anger and hate are deceitful things. It will blind you from the truth in your violent screams. It will mask you from the help, that you had once sought… this is what happened because a man had once been their enemy.

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