One Word Prompts

Chop - Death's Doorman

He stood before them, taller than any mortal man. Fire licked at his black armor, glowing with its crimson, reflected light. Behind him lay a set of double doors, taller and wider than him.

They were deep within the palace, surrounded by its obsidian walls.

The man raised his axe. A fearsome, dual-headed, two-handed beast of a weapon. Black steel blades, a dark wood handle.

"Who approaches?" the armored man demanded of the approaching party. His voice was deep and rasping.

The party--two swordsmen, an archer, and a mage--strode forward undaunted. The swordsmen, a man and a woman, looked between each other, grinning. They'd fought dragons and giants, what did they have to fear of this glorified guard.

"Your end," the swordswoman answered him, drawing her sword. The swordsman at her side snickered, drawing his as well.

The axe man laughed. "You think yourself the first to say that? You think you will be the last? If you hope to live till tomorrow, turn and leave now."

"You think that scares us?" the archer asked. He readied his bow, nocking an arrow. "Hate to break it to you, but we're sturdier stuff than that."

"This is your last chance." He took a step toward them, his hands finding their places on the axe handle.

"Just try and stop us!" the swordswoman shouted, leaping forward sword in hand.

The mage shook her head, pulling her wand from her robes, her first spell on her lips. She knew the legends around this axe man. Death's Doorman, he was called. Whether it was because the door behind him really led to the underworld or because all who faced him certainly ended up there next, it was uncertain. What she did know was that her companions fully believed that if they beat him they would win the secret to eternal life.

The archer let loose his first volley of shots. Her spell accompanied them, clothing them in magic of ice and lightning.

If they could beat him.

The arrows took him full in the face. Magic exploded against his face plate, obscuring his helm.

She looked up at the giant before her as the swordsmen dashing to either side, blades slamming against his sides. They had certainly fought bigger opponents.

The next barrage of arrows joined the first. Most bounced off the heavy plates. A handful stuck between. They had fought faster opponents.

Her next spell activated. Ice sprang from the walls in sharp spears. They impaled his chest, immobilizing him as the swordsmen continued their flashing strikes. They had fought more agile opponents.

And yet...

He seemed to crumble under their assault. His form slumped, his axe drooped in his hands.

And yet, as she unleashed another spell of impaling ice, the knot in her stomach only tightened.

The ice pierced the helmet, sliding clean through. The armored figure fell to the ground, his axe falling beside him.

The party stopped at the sight, frowns across every face. This was the immortal guard of the underworld? They were good, but he hadn't even swung his axe once. Something was wrong.

The swordswoman inched closer to the armored body, nudging the figure with a boot tip.

Fire exploded outward, consuming her in an instant.

The others leapt back, watching in horror as the armored figure rose amid the flames. A deep cackling filled the room, seeming to come from every direction, not only the rising armor.

This time he did not wait for their challenge. The axe swept across the hall, its black metal head exuding flames across its arc.

The swordsman caught the strike against his shield. He swept him along, smacking him into the far wall.

The archer shot at the axe man's head, but the arrows burned up as they approached. The mage let loose another ice spear, but it melted before it reached the man's armor.

"Flee," the armored man howled to any who would listen. "Flee or die."

The swordsman charged the Doorman, a battle cry on his lips. The axe man slammed his axe down on the swordsman. The swordsman caught it on his shield, but a decisive twist of the axe man's wrist and the shield split down the center, falling to the ground in two. Another downward chop and the swordsman was done.

All the while the mage and the archer fired off round after round. But neither the arrows nor the ice bolts made it any closer.

The swordsman down, the axe man turned his attention on the next closest target. The archer.

A sweeping blow of the axe and the archer's bow lay in two pieces. The archer drew his dagger at his belt but was cleaved in two before he could think to use it.

And like that, it was just the mage alone against Death's Doorman.

An honorable person would have stood and fought to the bitter end. A heroic person would have made sure her friends didn't die in vain. An idealistic person might have used their last spell to kill them both.

Her spell did no such thing.

The axe blade swung through her. A second earlier, it might have cleaved her head from her shoulders.

But her spell fired first. In an instant she was ten feet back, her head down, her back to the guardian of the underworld.

She'd cut her losses here. Live to fight another day. This would not be the last group of adventurers who wanted eternity. These would not be the last group in need of a mage.

Head down, she bolted, flying from the palace of obsidian, dreams of future conquest in her mind's eye.

The axe man shook his head as he watched her flee again. He thought he'd recognized her. She was the only one who made it to his door and who fled when the going got tough.

He hefted his axe over his shoulder with a shrug. One of these days he'd kill her. He was in no hurry.