Jeim'Dal

CHAPTER 6: WE SERVE TO DIE

The din of battle was deafening. The clash of steel upon steel, the slicing of swords through flesh, and the agonizing cries of men filled the air. I watched my comrades fall, one by one, their bodies littering the blood-soaked earth. We were but a mere hundred against their thousands, a wall of bodies crashing upon us like an unstoppable tide.

"Is this our end?" I thought, as the weight of despair settled over me.

Suddenly, Melbourne was pulled from his stupor, standing alone in the thick of battle. He gripped his sword with trembling hands, watching helplessly as an enemy spearman, his face contorted in rage, charged at him with lethal intent.

"DIE, YOU LA PAZENE DOG!" the enemy roared, driving his spear toward Melbourne's chest with terrifying speed.

But death did not claim him. At the last moment, Keith appeared, his shield raised in defiance. With a thunderous clang, he parried the spear, saving Melbourne from certain death. Before Melbourne could even comprehend what had happened, another figure burst into the fray.

Razen, quick as the wind, vaulted through the air and drove his own spear through the chest of the attacker. Blood sprayed, and the enemy fell lifeless at their feet.

Keith kicked the corpse aside, his face a mask of rage. "GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF, MELBOURNE!" he bellowed, his voice rough, as though it had been forged in the very fires of war.

Razen, landing lightly beside them, glanced at Melbourne with cold, calculating eyes. "You'll be a corpse soon if you don't start moving!" he spat, his words sharp as his blade. Without waiting for a response, he sprinted off, disappearing into the swirling fog of smoke and screams. The sound of clashing steel and the dying cries of men echoed after him.

Keith turned to Melbourne, his weathered face etched with frustration. "Wake up, you fool!" he snarled, gripping the front of Melbourne's tattered armor. The once-gleaming plate was now nothing but a shattered ruin, stained with the blood of fallen friends and foes alike, its edges jagged and broken. "We don't have time for this. I don't know if we will live to see another sunrise, but standing here like a sheep ready for slaughter will only make your death come faster."

Melbourne, his breath shallow and panicked, stammered a weak reply. "I... I'm sorry... I was just... thinking—"

"Thinking will get you killed," Keith interrupted, releasing his grip and rising to his feet, blood-stained sword in hand. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion, but his eyes were still fierce, still burning with the fire of survival. "We fight. Until our bodies break or our enemies do."

Taking in a deep breath, Melbourne clenched his jaw and nodded. "Aye," he said softly, though his heart hammered in his chest. He could feel the weight of the battlefield around him—thousands of enemy soldiers descending upon their shattered line. But something stirred within him, a faint flicker of resolve in the face of the overwhelming darkness.

With renewed determination, Melbourne stood and tapped Keith's shoulder in thanks, then bent down to retrieve his fallen sword and dagger. He gazed out at the tide of enemies rushing toward them, their bloodlust palpable in the very air. His grip tightened on the hilt of his weapon as he moved forward, each step more certain than the last.