Battle of the Black Skull (15)

Under the relentless onslaught of rain, blood was being washed off the shattered armor of a beautiful young woman with black hair and vermilion eyes. She swayed, trying to lash out with her cracked sword, but slipped in the mud and fell heavily to one knee. 

Her breathing was hoarse, and her lips were painted crimson with blood.

Mordret looked much worse than his sister. 

One of his eyes was gone, turning his face into a grotesque mask. So was one of his hands. His armor was on the verge of collapsing into a whirlwind of sparks, and terrible wounds covered his body, revealing flesh and bone. 

And yet, his expression was calm.

'Ah… it hurts… I haven't felt pain like that in a long, long time…'

He was growing weak because of blood loss, his vision turning blurry. But he was so close to his goal… after long, excruciating years, the first true taste of his revenge was so near. 

So, Mordret took a step forward, and then another.