Staggering from the blow, he swung his staff rapidly in quick defensive movements as he struggled to regain his balance. Seeing his opponent hopping backwards to avoid his wild swings he took a deep breath to steady himself. That breath made him wince as pain lanced through his side, a sure sign that the last strike had penetrated his screen.

He hunched forward driving the staff into the ground as he studied his adversary.

The silver armor was dented all over, a particularly nasty furrow on one of his greaves was probably why his nemesis was favoring his right leg and the half remnant of shield was proof that he’d given as much as he’d received in this fight.

The armored figure lowered his sword.

An old action.

From a more peaceful time.

Much more peaceful.

Seeing the move the word left his mouth before he could even think about it.

“Truce?” He rasped as he struggled to calm his breathing. He silently cursed in his mind. The sound of his voice sounded much too weak, too weak for the armored person to even hear. He repeated the word, trying to put some strength into his voice.

“Temporary.” The armored figures reply was calm.

More curses flowed through his mind. It seemed like the armored man wasn’t injured as much as the damage on his plate had shown, or he’d hoped.

“Why was this even necessary Jors?” The armored figure raised his visor as he asked.

“Your face, Atlan.” Jors wheezed.

“My face?” Atlan asked as he touched his chin.

“I don’t like it. Well to be honest I don’t like you.”

Hearing the humor in Jors’ voice, Atlan frowned and gripped his sword in what Jors could only hope was suppressed rage. Keeping your enemy off balance was always good, especially when you were losing.

“This, Jors. Why was this necessary?” Atlan gestured around him with his broken shield.

Looking around slowly, Jors saw that the intensity of their fight had spread to their companions.

The once green fields were now shattered and cratered. Pulses of energy overflowing with unearthly might streaked the battlefield like raging beasts as they sought to end life. The three great guardian peaks had simply turned to ashes and the great lake that had once supported them was dyed red with blood.

Jors had known that this war would damage his home, but he hadn’t truly understood until Atlan had led his men into shattering the defensive formations, bringing untold devastation as their power was turned upon the ones they were supposed to protect. Pain shot through him as he saw the corpses that littered the battlefield. There were so many that had fallen. So many who had followed him as he raised his banner to lead them into the future.

The armies still raged, clashing, their perfect lines broken.

Gone was the strategy that had marked the last few weeks. They all knew it was a last stand. There was no need to hold back anymore. They had been surrounded, betrayed, overwhelmed. Seeing the ferocity as his forces raged against the might of the Heymelkammer, Jors at least knew that he wasn’t alone in his ideals.

His eyes darted searching for his generals, his comrades.

It wasn’t difficult to find them since he knew they’d be at the forefront of the battle.

Lowens was in a rage, missing an arm and yet still pressing three knights back with every strike.

The Carmen twins had pinned down Atlans chief priest, stopping him from assisting the enemy troops with his divine blessings.

Borask had fallen back to defend his wife as she prepared some form of techno-magic.

Leiten had fallen early in the fight and not seeing or feeling the presences of Ayla and Perdain, it did not seem he was going to be alone. So many of his brothers and sisters fighting and dying, taking down dozens even in their death throes. Feeling his injuries, Jors felt they would all be joining Leiten shortly.

Looking at Atlan again, Jors could see the frustration hidden behind his cold blue eyes. It was a sad thing he thought, that led them to become like this, and he felt some sympathy for this paragon that people had called the Silver Knight of Astrea. Shaking his head to rid himself of any sympathetic emotions he straightened from his hunched pose and set himself in position to wield his staff once more.

The sound of fighting slowly faded as he continued to breathe deeply and the pain in his side dimmed as his focus on Atlan intensified.

His silence seemed to irk Atlan, and he could slowly sense Atlan gathering his strength while raising his sword back into the first stance of his famed Thunder Blade.

“Why did you abandon the gods Jors?” Atlans voice was soft and pained as he glared at Jors. “Is it for Linea? You know that even the greatest healers could do nothing to save her.”

Hearing Lineas name made Jors flinch but he quickly centered himself and tried to regain his concentration.

“You owe me an explanation Jors. Please. At least you of all people cannot deny my request.” Atlan was almost begging at this point, Jors knew the word please was almost unheard of, coming from his mouth.

Jors shook his head. “No Atlan. Whatever brotherhood we had was lost when you chose to murder in the name of your god.”

“They were demons, Jors!” Atlan screamed, his eyes showing fear. “Monsters from the nether Dimensions! By the will of Astrea I will purge all those filthy creatures that would dare to harm humans.” The fear slowly faded replaced by signs of fervor. “I am the blade of Astrea. The justice in her name. Doom on her enemies, Blessings on her followers. None shall stand before the Lady of the Moon.”

Seeing the zeal slowly taking Atlan over, Jors sighed. He knew that Atlan would be lost in his own world now, gone was the hesitation as that stalwart armored figure mumbled his catechisms.

“No, they weren’t Atlan, and at some time in the past you also knew that.” Jors muttered. Raising his voice, he continued. “Nonetheless, I am done with all these puppet masters, Atlan, I will be free.”

Nodding his head Atlan spoke.

“I will bring you to justice in the name of Astrea. Goodbye Jors.”

Atlan started to glow, a holy silver radiance slowly poured out of him, instantly mending the rents in his armor and shield. It spread from him like mist and became brighter and brighter. The pressure on Jors slowly increased and he found it difficult not to cower in front of the radiant figure in front of him.

“In the name of Astrea do I Judge thee, Jors of Kale.” Atlans voice resonated throughout the battlefield, stopping the surrounding fights as all gazed at the paragon of the divine before them.

“Know Peace!” Atlan shouted as he took a step forwards causing Jors to cough up blood.

“Find Strength!” Another step. Jors felt his injured side rupture and even more of his blood trickled down his body.

“Be judged!” The third step caused waves of power to radiate outwards from Atlans foot. Struggling to withstand it Jors fell to his knees.

“In the name of the Lady!” Fourth step. Jors found it hard to breathe, yet he struggled to bring his staff up into a defensive position.

“Know Death!” Atlan raised his blade and gathered power into it producing a blinding light. Leg raised, Atlan started his fifth and final step.

Jors’ eyes watered as he saw his end approach him. He wouldn’t shy away from this, his mind flashing with memories, a life lived with such emotion had satisfied him however it would end. His choices had led him here and he was content that at least they were his choices.

Atlans foot slowly descended.

It seemed to move even slower as it came closer to the ground.

Sound vanished and silence reigned.

The sun was eclipsed by his sword.

As the step landed the pressure weighing down on Jors vanished.

The sword in Atlans hand blazed even brighter.

Suddenly a ripple of force passed through the air. It came from behind Jors and passed through him rushing straight forward. It was so fast that Atlan had barely begun his downward swing before it pierced through him.

The light of Atlans sword flickered.

Pausing in his motion Atlan stared in shock at his sword. The earth shook and Atlan stared behind Jors sensing another ripple approaching him. This ripple was much stronger and it caused waves of light to peel off Atlans sword and turn into wisps that slowly dissipated. Seeing this Jors smiled.

“What have you done?” Atlan whispered.

“I’ve won Atlan.” Jors thrust his staff upwards driving it towards Atlans chest. Sensing the movement Atlan tried to twist his body out of the way, but he was just too late in reacting and the staff struck the sword out of his hand, sending it spinning to the side.

Staring at his empty hand tears came to Atlans eyes.

Tears? That wasn’t what he’d wanted.

“That’s not fair, Orchid!” The boy in front of him shouted. “The Silver Knight wasn’t injured by the Veil Master. Your last thrust was meant to be to the side.”

Orchid blinked once and gone were the shattered fields of the great war, replaced by the gardens of his hometown. In front of him a pale haired boy clutched his hand as he started sobbing.