A lone man stood before an army of unfathomable proportions, millions upon millions. Their banner, a burning skull, raised high and their voices raised higher, they chanted and they marched, a dark aura loomed out of them. They are the Demon army and they bring with them the promise of death and destruction.
One man stood before them, bleeding and exhausted, his own army lay behind him torn to shreds, they fought the scout troops but both side were killed in the battle, only he survived. He stood alone against the fearsome army, no fear in his eyes, just pain, anger and sorrow. He was the last stand, countless lives depended on him and he planned not to disappoint.
He raised his arms, a sword in one and a flag in the other, his flag signified the unification of the three mighty nations, his flag was the beacon of hope, he will never lower it, he will hold it up high for all to see.
The Dark army approached, the ground trembled and the skies roared. Deafening cries of madness emerged from the army of darkness.
Taking a deep breath the man remembered what he had lost, his family and friends that that were slaughtered before his eyes, his comrades that died around him, the hero that entrusted this flag to him and the lives that depended on him.
He opened his eyes and roared a challenge, a roar filled with power that put the heavens to shame, the armies of darkness were silenced by this one man.
in this moment of silence he charged, his head held high, his flag held higher. A desperate charge, straight into the enemy lines and just as soon as he made contact he was engulfed by the charging army. The army charged on, ignoring the puny human before them, that was a mistake.
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Suddenly a bright light shone in the center of their formation, demons flew everywhere, a single form stood in the middle of the explosion, a lone man whose flag was held high. In response the heavens struck, lightning flew down and hit the flag, from there it expanded and eradicated those it touched.
The dome of lightning reached out for miles and struck down many an enemy, but more approached. The flag-bearer wasted no time and ran out to meet them with his blade, he swung at the air and out came arcs of energy. Each arc was a different color and flew forward for meters, cutting more foes, each color had different effects, some unleashed a torrent of fire which engulfed his foes in flames, others a hurricane which tore his foes to shreds and many more.
The battlefield had turned into chaos, all the elements swirled with power eradicating demons as the man tore the army apart, but for every foe he killed, a thousand more matched forward to take their place.
He pushed harder, for many days and nights his flag and sword were raised and the man fought on, but there is limit. after seven days and seven nights, the man fell to his knees, the accumulation of wounds over the past week was too much for his body to handle. With his last breath the man let loose one last mighty cry and held his flag high in the air.
to be continued