Chapter 28: With a Red Light of Triumph in His Eyes, Part 4

"Oh, but what the fuck is happening now?" Dracula asked, although deep down he didn't want to know, it was his job to fix the mess, as always.

And, of course, he couldn't detect what had happened from the throne. Which meant the problem was outside. Which meant he would have to get his ass off the seat. Ah, Jesus. Dracula sighs heavily. But he got up.

"You stay there, friend."

Davy Jones nodded.

——

Golden helmet and armor. An enormous body and an even more enormous sword. The very image of a hero, except for the part where you couldn't see his eyes.

He fell from the skies like an avenging angel. An insignificant part of Dracula's flying army changed course to intercept him. The golden armor didn't use its sword at first. It fell through them like a meteor, burning dozens of monsters with its wake.

He couldn't fly. He didn't need to. He grabbed onto the winged monsters. Sinking his fingers into their flesh, twisting, manipulating.

Wielding his sword around meanwhile, of course. And when they were no longer useful to him, he easily cut them in half. He propelled himself towards the next one after the blood bath.

They couldn't handle him, and he wasn't even losing altitude. In truth, he didn't need to fly at all. It gave the impression that he could continue like this for as long as he needed or wanted.

Despite being bathed in blood from head to toe, the golden armor didn't lose its shine. The same could be said of the blade of his sword. The person inside the armor didn't say anything. He didn't make the slightest sound. In reality, he didn't give the impression of being a hero, or even human.

But it couldn't be denied that his movements were working. Reducing and slowing the tide of nightmare. Of course, not even a legendary hero could win a war on his own. Right?

Still, it was a dream anyone could believe in. Wanted to believe in. If there was anyone watching this spectacle, of course.

Only the monsters watched the hero in the golden armor. Hundreds of thousands of eyes burning with malice.

The feast they were having with the city's inhabitants was satisfying. But they were animals at heart. It was much more fun to go after prey that could resist. Even the monsters on the ground couldn't wait for him to land and try their luck. The man in the golden armor understood this instinctively. Although he had never faced such a horrible situation as this, he knew evil like the back of his hand.

Ifrit, a demon that was the eye of a firestorm. He approached with arms outstretched to welcome him to hell. The sword of the golden armor reacted to the new threat. It began to vibrate. And to glow with an ethereal blue light.

It shot a jet of water that cleared the Ifrit's firestorm and made it fall to the ground.

He and the sword could adapt to any kind of threat. He had been fighting evil for decades. Since he was a small child. If there was something that could still catch him by surprise... Naturally, he didn't know. But the element of surprise couldn't cause his defeat. No matter how many times he fell, he would get up again.

His gigantic body and armor made him look like an unbreakable wall. That was precisely what he believed himself to be. Unbreakable.

The golden armor continued its fall in the end. His technique for not losing altitude was perfect, as was his execution. The problem was that he soon ran out of enemies to use it on. He landed on his feet. His impact cracked the ground. Most of the shock was absorbed by the armor, so he didn't even have to bend his knees.

In the air, naturally, he had only had to worry about winged enemies. Now all the monsters nearby pounced on him. Eyes and claws flashed. Mouths opened wide. They drooled for this opportunity.

The golden armor immediately showed them that they shouldn't even have dreamed of that opportunity. He showed them that it was he who had been at a disadvantage fighting in the air. The enormous sword, which seemed more like a large piece of iron, shattered almost a dozen monsters with a single blow. Blood and entrails rose in the air like confetti.

The sword was so large that a human shouldn't be able to lift it, let alone wield it even once. But not only was he capable of handling that great size. He was as fast as the wind. It seemed that the size of his equipment didn't weigh him down at all.

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The monsters died quickly. They died screaming. If they did damage to the enemy, it wasn't very visible. Either the human's blood was mixed with the countless liters of monster blood that bathed his armor. Not all of them bled black, most of them had blood as red as human blood.

What attacks could penetrate that armor like a castle wall to wring out a single gasp of pain, let alone a scream?

While the golden armor was fighting here, at the gates of Dracula's castle, millions of people were dying horribly throughout the city.

But if he believed that the best way to save the greatest number of people, the duty of a hero, was to go through the city, that's what he would be doing. The horrible truth was that he had to bear the deaths that were occurring now and could have prevented. Because this wouldn't end until he cut off the head of the snake.

Unbeknownst to him, the snake in question was watching him from the balcony. Wondering if this would be the hero he had been waiting for. The Prince of Darkness quickly came to a conclusion.

"It can't be, you can't even see his face. That's not very heroic."

What would the hero in the golden armor think of that if he could have heard it above the screams and howls of Dracula's army?

In any case, Dracula shrugged and returned to his throne. He had gotten bored with the show. There was nothing better than predictability. He was already sure that man would die. He didn't care how far he got before doing so. If he didn't reach him, he could have died on the first floor or right in front of the doors of the throne room. There was no difference to him.

The golden armor made its way through Dracula's army. It was like a butcher in the slaughterhouse. He pushed them back, climbing up the ramp that led to the castle floating in the sky.

He had realized that the entire castle was protected by a barrier that only let the army pass through. None of the legends about Dracula and the age of darkness had mentioned that detail. Which was very important. He couldn't win this war alone. If he didn't destroy the barrier, the human army couldn't enter the first floor. Much less travel through them all and cut off the head of the snake.

He made the decision in a tenth of a second. He had to destroy the barrier even if it cost him his life.

Otherwise, there would be no future for humanity.

It was an easy decision in every sense. He couldn't even call it a sacrifice. He had never valued his life in the first place. A person who lived to fight dying in battle was the most natural thing in the world. He had always known how he would die. The only thing he hadn't expected was to last so long. So if he had to die today, he would accept it.

He would even be grateful for it. At some point, he had to put down his weapons and find peace.

What better moment than giving it all against the worst of the creatures he had dedicated his life to fighting?

A zombie dragon charged at him. He had two dozen monsters on top of him, maybe a bit more, so he couldn't get out of the way. He lost his sword with the force of the impact and stepped back a few centimeters. A spider woman tried to pierce his neck with her blade-like legs.

He slid his fingers into the zombie dragon's eye sockets. It was easy since, of course, it had no eyes. It didn't have a brain either. It was a corpse animated by dark magic, so no matter how hard he squeezed or how deep he went, he couldn't kill it that way. And it had never been his intention. He used the grip to pull.

Splitting the beast's head in half.

Sliding down the ramp. Running over lesser monsters.

It would have done the same to him, if not for the fact that he recovered the sword and stuck it into the ground.

The hero in the golden armor was in no hurry to die. If he had to die, he would prefer to do so in a duel with Dracula. It felt like his destiny, naturally. He had spent his whole life fighting against a relentless tide of darkness. No matter how many monsters he killed, more would come out. He understood that he was doing something good, but the fight never ended or progressed. All he could do was clean up one mess after another. He couldn't stop them before they happened.

But now the darkness had a face and a name. So naturally, it gave him the feeling that all that effort and sacrifice had been for this.

If he had to die here to give humanity a chance to fight, he would. That was all.

If that was his true destiny, the worn-out corpse inside the armor could accept it. He had learned from a very young age that people don't choose how they die. That would still be a much better death than the one that had befallen his parents.

The tide of darkness came from all directions. They tried to push him back by all means. He almost had the feeling that he was really drowning. But he was advancing. Even if it was little by little, he was swimming against the tide. He could do it. It would mean something even if it was the last thing he did with his life.

The armor began to shine. For the unholy creatures surrounding him, it would be like looking at the sun in the middle of an eclipse. They screamed, they writhed. They attacked him blindly. But they only touched air. He had left them behind to finally reach the barrier. He hit it, wielding the sword with both hands. The barrier briefly became visible. Nothing more. That wasn't nearly enough, of course.

The glow of the armor became more and more intense. What surrounded him was the holy light that drove away the darkness from the hearts of men. He unleashed that power and the barrier came down before his eyes, like a great crystal sculpture. As he had known from the beginning, the barrier was not the only thing affected by the explosion. His legendary armor was filling with cracks.

It was a desperate move that he could only use to end a fight. He had always known he would survive the explosion. The consequences were another story.

The tide of darkness threw itself upon him.

The worn-out corpse wielded his sword for the last time.

With a Red Light of Triumph in His Eyes, Part 4: END