Last stand

The distant desert stretched endlessly under the red sun, its glow casting an eerie light over the barren landscape. The air was dry, carrying the scent of dust and the whispers of an impending battle. Scattered rocks and sparse vegetation dotted the sandy expanse, while the occasional gust of wind sent small whirlwinds of sand spiraling into the air.

"We're going to lose..."

This is what Skalf thought as he looked at the approaching humans, filled with hatred and anger. Their weapons were ready to ravage everything in their path, their horses fully armored and prepared for the charge. Most imposing of all was their captain, a tall and hulking white knight, masked and clad in gleaming armor, with a long light blue cape flowing behind him and an enormous sword at his side. His eyes glowed from within his dark, gloomy helmet.

The young skeleton stared intensely at the light, or as those humans called themselves, the Sun-Graber. They were a notorious and powerful clan, feared by many. Rumors spoke of their king being an angel descended from heaven, blessing all the humans in their town with his divine favor.

The Sun-Graber clan was immense, their numbers overwhelming. They were renowned for their strength, mercilessness, and deep-seated hatred for all who opposed them.

In contrast, Skalf's people, the Clan of Skulls, were much poorer and less equipped. The darkness they embraced was their way of life, a stark contrast to the light worshiped by the humans. Their village was humble, their resources scarce, and their warriors few. Yet, they clung to their beliefs and fought for their survival with unwavering determination.

Skalf glanced at his companions. Despite their large numbers, fear was evident in their eyes. The Sun-Graber were not typical foes; they were relentless, formidable, and driven by an unyielding desire to eradicate the darkness.

"Fucking... hell," Skalf muttered under his breath.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he saw Olas, a tall skeleton warrior with glowing orange eyes. Olas's armor was worn but sturdy, and he carried a massive axe in his hand.

"You okay?" Olas asked.

Skalf chuckled bitterly. "We're about to die. Am I supposed to be okay?"

Olas chuckled lightly in response. "True... but what can we do, if not embrace this darkness?"

Skalf laughed sarcastically. "Ah, yes... the darkness..."

Olas adjusted his grip on his axe. "Get yourself together, Skalf. This may be our last battle, but I know we can do it!"

Skalf looked at his friend with a wry smile. "...Yeah..."

They were weak, and there was no denying it, but they had each other. Skalf fixed his sword with precision. He hated fighting, but what choice did he have? It was a hate-love relationship—he despised the violence, but the thrill of battle was something he couldn't deny.

As the Sun-Graber army drew closer, the tension in the air grew thicker. The fate of the Clan of Skulls hung in the balance, and Skalf knew that this battle would determine their future. They were outnumbered and outmatched, but they would fight with every ounce of strength they had left.

The red sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the desert as the two armies faced each other. The air was thick with tension, every warrior poised for the impending clash. The Sun-Graber knights, their armor gleaming and weapons ready, advanced with a thunderous roar, their horses kicking up clouds of dust as they charged.

The skeletons of the Clan of Skulls, though outmatched and outnumbered, stood their ground. Their bones rattled with anticipation, their eyes glowing with a mix of fear and determination. Skalf gripped his sword tightly, his gaze fixed on the advancing enemy.

"Hold the line!" Olas shouted, raising his axe high.

The first clash was brutal. The Sun-Graber knights crashed into the skeleton warriors with devastating force. Swords and axes met with bone-crunching impacts, and the air was filled with the sounds of battle—clashing metal, grunts of effort, and screams of agony.

Skalf moved with precision, his sword slicing through the air with deadly accuracy. Despite his disdain for fighting, he was exceptionally skilled. Each movement was calculated, each strike intended to maximize damage while minimizing risk. He ducked under a knight's swing and drove his blade into the gap in the armor, twisting it to ensure a fatal wound. Blood sprayed across the sand, the crimson liquid stark against the white bones and golden armor.

Beside him, Olas fought with ferocity, his axe cleaving through both armor and flesh. The battlefield was a chaotic blur of motion and violence. Skeletons and humans fell in heaps, the sand beneath them turning dark with blood.

A Sun-Graber knight lunged at Skalf, his enormous sword arcing through the air. Skalf sidestepped, his movements fluid and almost graceful. He brought his sword up in a swift counterattack, slashing across the knight's exposed throat. The knight gurgled, blood pouring from the wound as he collapsed to the ground.

The screams of the dying filled the air, mingling with the metallic scent of blood. Skalf's mind was a whirlwind of focus and instinct. He parried a strike from another knight, then drove his sword into the attacker's chest, feeling the resistance of flesh and bone giving way. He yanked the blade free, and the knight fell, his lifeblood soaking into the sand.

Skalf fought on, his mind detached from the carnage around him. He hated this—the senseless violence, the endless cycle of death. But he fought with a cold efficiency, driven by the need to survive and protect his kin. He saw a fellow skeleton fall, his bones shattered by a powerful blow, and a surge of anger propelled him forward.

He faced another knight, their swords clashing in a brutal dance. Skalf's eyes locked onto his opponent's glowing visor. With a swift motion, he disarmed the knight, sending the sword flying through the air. Skalf drove his own blade through the knight's chest, twisting it to ensure the fatal blow. Blood sprayed from the wound, coating Skalf's bones in a macabre red sheen.

The battle raged on around him, a symphony of chaos and bloodshed. Skalf moved like a specter of death, his sword an extension of his will. He slashed, parried, and thrust, each movement a testament to his skill. Despite the overwhelming odds, he held his ground, a beacon of defiance in the face of annihilation.

Amidst the gore and the chaos, Skalf couldn't shake the feeling of futility. The Sun-Graber knights were relentless, their numbers seemingly endless. But he fought on, driven by a mix of duty and desperation. The battlefield became a slaughterhouse, the sand soaked with blood and littered with the remains of both human and skeleton warriors.

With every swing of his sword, Skalf carved a path through the enemy ranks. His movements were precise, his strikes lethal.

Skalf stood amidst the fallen, his bones covered in blood and grime. The Sun-Graber knights continued their assault, but the Clan of Skulls fought on, refusing to yield.

Skalf suddenly looked up, his glowing red eyes narrowing as he spotted the Sun-Graber captain observing the battlefield from a distance. The captain's presence was imposing, his eyes gleaming with cold, calculated fury.

As the clash of swords and screams of the dying filled the air, the captain raised his arm slowly, his gaze sweeping across the battlefield. His glowing eyes seemed to intensify, growing brighter and brighter with each passing moment.

"SHOOT!" the captain's voice boomed across the desert, a command filled with authority and malice.

Skalf's eyes widened in horror as he realized what was coming. Enormous fireballs began to rain down from the sky, their fiery trails illuminating the dusk. The air filled with the deafening roar of flames and the desperate cries of his comrades.

He watched in helpless fury as the fireballs crashed into the battlefield, engulfing skeleton warriors and Sun-Graber knights alike in a blazing inferno. The ground shook with the impact, sand and blood erupting into the air.

Skalf's heart pounded in his chest. The heat was intense, searing his bones as he tried to shield himself from the onslaught. He moved with desperate urgency, dodging and weaving through the chaos. The flames roared around him, licking at his tattered armor and scorching the desert floor.

Beside him, Olas was fending off a knight when a fireball struck nearby, the explosion sending both combatants flying. Skalf rushed to his friend's side, his sword cutting through the air with deadly precision as he fought off attackers.

"Olas! Are you alright?" Skalf shouted over the din of battle.

Olas coughed, struggling to his feet. "I'll live," he replied, his voice strained but determined.

Suddenly, Olas stopped when he felt something stab him from behind. A Sun-Graber knight had managed to drive his sword into Olas's back.

"Ah..." Olas gasped, his eyes widening in shock and pain.

"No!" Skalf roared, his voice echoing with a mix of fury and despair.

Skalf's world seemed to slow as he watched his friend fall to his knees. With a swift, furious motion, Skalf decapitated the knight, the blade slicing cleanly through the enemy's neck. Blood sprayed across the sand, but Skalf barely noticed. His focus was on Olas, who crumpled to the ground, the light in his glowing eyes fading.

Skalf knelt beside Olas, cradling his fallen friend. The battlefield around them seemed to blur as grief and rage surged within him.

"Olas, stay with me," Skalf pleaded, his voice trembling. "We still have a fight to win."

Olas managed a weak smile, his skeletal hand reaching up to grasp Skalf's. "Fight... for the darkness," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "For our kin..."

He knew this would happen. He knew the risks, the inevitability of death in battle. Yet, seeing Olas lifeless before him filled his soul with a mix of hatred and sadness. The weight of his friend's sacrifice bore down on him, a heavy reminder of the cost of their fight against the light.

As Skalf gazed around the battlefield, he saw the many fallen comrades, their bodies scattered like broken dolls. Despair gripped him, but beneath it, a burning resolve began to take root.

He suddenly felt two pairs of eyes fixing on him. Turning slowly, he saw the captain standing behind him, his blue glowing eyes staring with an unknowable emotion.

"We are gonna lose..."