>The One Clayed In Black>
January 11th, 2019
As I stood their drenched in the blood of my fallen comrades, I couldn't help but feel weak in my knees.
I was ready to collapse at any given moments, just being on this god forsaken blood soaked battlefield had me at my wits end.
"Huff..huff…huff.."
My breathing was raspy and heavy, I was close to wheezing for a breath of air. Looking to my right hand, all I could see was the torn veins and ripped skin of what Was my hand.
The sword I had held already broke and rusted away due to so many attacks and prolonged fights. Turning my head around, I could feel my heart beat slow as I saw the countless rows and rows of bodies laid about on the dead grassy battlefield.
Or rather…the one who made it this way.
There stood a young man, clayed in a slim black armor with intricate red glowing accents. He held a jagged long black sword, the energy emitting from it was red in hue, only contrasting the already menacing scene before me.
"Ah-"
Thomp!
Falling backwards, I couldn't help but feel sluggish and weak. My vision began to blur form exhaustion, once more I looked up, only to see the young man towering above me.
His black midnight black hair slowly flowing form the subtle breeze of the clam wind, his marooon gleeming eyes sharply staring into me, as if to pierce my very existence.
Ba-Dump!
Ba-Dump!
Ba-Dump!
My heart rate increased by every second our eyes meet, my palms began to sweat, my teeth began to grit, and the taste of blood flowing from my mouth began to make me sick.
Shortly after, the sound of a sharp ringing noise pierced my ears, I wanted to cover them so badly, to block out the noise I was currently hearing. But, all my attention was fixated on the young man right in front of me.
Slowly though as if to break the silence and ringing, he spoke, his voice smooth, yet carried a dark undertone of disgust and hate.
"Bellakus Wisemen…"
"…?!"
I froze, hearing the name of the man I served for nearly 8 years of my life was said through the words of this frightening young man.
"Wha-"
Shink!
Before I could say anything though, the subtle sound of a sharp object pierced the air, followed by the soud of the wind blowing fast in my ears.
Thwomp!
Before I knew it, my vision was fixated on to the lowering red sun. It's red illuminating light cascading a picture of violence, agony, and pain onto the hundreds of thousands of fallen high ranking generals laid about on the dead grassy plains.
Slowly, my vision began to darken, my hearing began to fade, the feeling of numbness taking hold of my very being. It would soon dawn on me, that my head was severed clean off my body, and death wasn't too far behind.
With one last ounce of will power I had, I took the moment to gaze upon my killer once more. He looked down at me, his maroon colored eyes darken with an unimpressed expression, his eyebrows furrowed, and simply shook his head in disappointment.
This young man, went by a name in the real of 'Elhiem'. The Rokkie Of Ora, The Savior Of The Forgotten Plains, The Vengeful Soirit…
But his most known, and commonly used name was. "The Fallen Black Knight".
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