Embers, fluttering in the air, carried by the wind. A burning city, spilling smoke into the sky. A black and red sky, pulsating like the heart of a burning creature. It was hot, hotter than anything Magnus had ever experienced. His city, his empire, and the society that his family worked centuries to build were crumbling around him in a matter of seconds. The large, muscular man stood in the middle of the Emperor’s hall. Fire blazed around him, spilling through the windows and heating his face. A large pillar came crashing down, slamming into the ground and spewing marble in all directions. Magnus held up a hand to shield his face as rubble splattered everywhere. This should scare him, he should be afraid. Fear, it's what drives survival. But looking at everything; at the crumbling building around him, and the fire licking up the walls, he tensed up. Magnus doubled over and began to howl with hysterical laughter. He threw his head into the air and catapulted his cackle toward the ceiling. Tears filled his eyes, his body began to shake and convulse and he could feel himself losing oxygen with each breath expelled. But he couldn’t stop. It was manic, deranged, and loud as a dragon’s roar. But Magnus stopped when he noticed the figure standing in the crumbled doorway. 

A young woman stood in the frame, silhouetted by the blazing flames. Straight black hair fell to her shoulders, and scuffs and blood covered her flesh. She carried at her side a longsword and a shield in her other hand. Magnus couldn’t tell what kind of face she had on, but it must have been grim. On her breastplate, slashed diagonally in the center, was the symbol of House Eloux of Anoisn.

“You…” Magnus said, catching his breath. “What are you doing here? What do you want?” 

She said nothing at first and instead descended the stairs. A wall crumbled just next to her but she was unphased. The city outside was now exposed. Magnus could hear the screaming of his people and the roaring fire carried on the wind. The woman stopped at the last step and pointed her sword at Magnus. 

“Unsheath your blade,” She said sternly. Magnus hesitated. He knew in his heart he would like to stay and fight to the death. But he had a family, a brother he needed to attend to. He couldn’t just leave them. “Are you not Emperor Magnus? The Loveless Knight? The steel made flesh?” She questioned him, and it only made him angrier. To hell with his life, his family, and his empire. He would not stand by and be idly chided by some little girl warrior. “Draw your sword, kneel and accept your doom.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Magnus reached behind himself, and the hiss of metal cut through the roaring flames as he drew his greatsword. It was nearly as big as him and serrated on both sides, a devilish blade made of differently sized spikes. The polished metal danced and flickered as the flames' light played with its reflection. “Enough of this!” He spat. “Let us see who is the better warrior!” The young woman didn’t need to be asked twice. She dashed madly for him before he even finished his sentence. Magnus roared as she charged, and heaved the massive blade over his head, bringing it down where it looked like she would end up. But she was quick, quicker than he could have ever imagined. She sidestepped him as his blade shot down, embedding itself into the marble floor with a massive clang. She was too quick, and Magnus felt the sting of metal run across his stomach. He went down on one knee, and then the other, holding out a shaky hand to catch himself on the floor. He vomited blood, quivering and shaking. He could hear her footsteps approaching, stomping against the stone. 

No, this could not be his final battle, this would not be it. He slowly planted a foot on the ground, and grunted, reaching for the blade sticking out of the ground. “Let me make this quick,” the woman said, walking slowly toward him. Magnus clasped his fist around the hilt and used the sword as leverage to stand. He screamed, blood gushing from his side and spilling from his nose. Gripping the hilt with both hands, he roared in pain as he strained to pull it from the ground. She stood, regarding him cautiously. “No help is coming,” she said. “You are alone in your crumbling empire. You lost, it is how societies function. Yo-” With a shout, Magnus tore the blade from the ground and swung it in her direction. She side-stepped, the blade just missing her, centimeters away from her face. Strands of her hair flew in all directions as the jagged blade smashed into the ground… and shattered at the tip. The woman wasted no time. She threw her shield away, ran up the broken blade, and wrapped her thighs around Magnus’ neck. 

“No… NO!” Magnus grunted as her legs tightened around him. She took her sword in both hands, raised it, and brought it down. Magnus could feel as the cold steel, glistening with his blood already, bore its way into the top of his head. He felt it behind his eyes, and now down his throat. Now, it slashed its way into his stomach. His mouth, ears, and eyes began to fill with blood. He could taste it, but not for long after that. The taste became muted, and then there was nothing. The last thing he saw was the marble floor rushing up to meet him.