Daryth’s sword rested in the ground as he stood, panting and bleeding from various wounds.  His black hair covered his eyes slightly as a hot wind blew over the nearly deserted field.  His loose black clothing was torn in several locations, revealing many wounds along his arms, face, legs and chest.  As the wind died down, he looked at the field with a sinking feeling in his heart, his icy blue eyes appearing calm, though underneath he was worried.  Leaning onto his sword for support, he watched as events unfolded…

A steel-clad warrior charged through the small rank of soldiers, his sword piercing through the stomach of an unfortunate victim.  Quickly drawing the stained blade, he swung in a wide arch, cleaving many of the surrounding enemies in two.  Grinning demonically, his eyes glowing with morbid pleasure, he struck a mortal blow to his last enemy, watching as he slowly died, his smirk growing impossibly wide.

Why must so many die…?  Daryth thought to himself, watching the last of his soldiers’ attempt to stop his sworn enemy.  Drawing his blade from the ground, he while drawing another from a sheath at his side.  Standing ready, he watched the approaching figure, his face hidden underneath a bronze helm.

“Must we fight?  Can you not see that you, of all people, cannot hope to stand up to someone of my power, especially in your condition,” the armored man laughed.  “Maybe not, but I cannot allow you to gain sovereignty over these lands…” the hero said.  “I grow weary of your words, prepare to meet the warriors of ages ago!” his opponent roared, swinging the blade vertically.  Narrowly avoiding the blow, Daryth attempted to find a weakness in brute’s armor.  His efforts were met by a ringing noise and partial numbness in one hand.

Laughing arrogantly, the warrior struck his armor with the side of his weapon.  “You cannot hope to pierce my armor, you weakling!  Give up now and maybe I’ll let you live long enough to see your precious empire come crashing down!” the one sneered, his face twisted into a wicked smile.  “You overestimate yourself Nerius, that is what will lead to your downfall…” he said, his eyes becoming emotionless and tightening the grip on his weapons.  Nerius growled in anger, doubling his efforts to take down his weaker, but much speedier foe.

As the two were locked in mortal combat, a lone figure rode onto the field on a sleek black horse.  Her blonde hair whipped in the wind created by their speed, though the air was deadly calm.  A broadsword was fastened tightly to the horse and a light brown bow along with a quiver was strapped against her sleeveless black dress.  I hope that idiot hasn’t gotten himself killed… she thought as the horse sped up.

Meanwhile, the two were oblivious to the approaching woman.  Their duel was monotonous, parry, dodge, strike, parry…  “You’re growing tired Daryth… I can see it in your movements,” Nerius said with a sneer.  Daryth knew his opponent was correct, but dared not say anything.  He was profusely sweating and now had several new wounds.  Dropping one sword, he backed away slightly, and held a wound on his right arm that had begun throbbing.  “You are becoming fatigued as well…  Do not underestimate me,” he growled, ignoring his enemy’s fleer.

As Daryth parried another blow, he slid slightly against the force of it, his hands barely holding onto the blade.  As Nerius stepped forwards, he pushed his blade forwards sharply as well.  His opponent, thrown off balance, lost his grip and his sword fell to the ground, clattering on top of the other.  Panting, the black clad warrior fell to the other while the other sneered and laughed at his seemingly defeated foe.  “I told you that you could not hope to defeat me!” he roared between his laughter.

Krystal saw one of the figures in the distance fall to the ground, and urged her horse to travel faster.  Drawing her bow, she nocked an arrow halfway, prepared to take a shot when she was close enough.  I’ll only have one shot… she thought grimly.  Closing her eyes for a moment, she calmed her thoughts as the arrow glowed with a faint blue light.  Opening them again, confidence glistened in her red cat-like eyes as she nocked the arrow fully and began aiming, the light never fading from it.

Pausing, Nerius grinned evilly at his fallen enemy, and said, “How ironic….  You came to save your precious empire and maybe the world from darkness, and yet you can’t even save yourself….”  Daryth just continued to kneel on one knee, his air coming in ragged pants.  The armored villain raised his sword above his head and held on with both hands, which were covered by gleaming obsidian colored gauntlets.

Krystal, seeing the approaching deathblow, quickly took aim as the arrow flashed brightly.  Releasing it, it flew towards its target at a blinding speed, leaving a faint blue arch in its wake.  As it soared through the air, Nerius began the deadly weapon’s descent.  The blade his the ground with a small thud, and embedded itself in the ground as Daryth grinned and seemed to disappear into thin air, his weapons disappearing with him.

Just as shock registered on Nerius’ face, it suddenly widened in surprise and even more shock as an arrow pierced his back, driving itself into his chest.  Daryth, how reappeared next to his enemy, stood, his eyes merciless, yet remaining both kind and serene.  “Bu-but how?” Nerius asked the hero, blood dripping from his mouth.  “Krystal is not the only one who knows magic….” He said, sheathing his blades with a slight amount of difficulty, holding his limp arm with the other.

“I… I will return, and you… will… die….” The warrior sputtered, blood running down his lips.  With the words spoken, he fell forwards, never to rise again…. Or so it seems.  Daryth let out a breath and smiled slightly.  “It’s finally over,” he said, looking from the drooping sun to his rapidly approaching peer.  After a moment he feel to the ground, unconscious.

It is said that Daryth and Krystal returned to their unnamed kingdom and were celebrated as heroes.  Tales of their deed were told from generation to generation until they seemed for fairy tale than reality.  Eventually, they became a story told to small children as magic and the time for warriors passed.  It is also said that in a time of need, new warriors shall emerge, but the word has yet to see whether this forgotten prophecy will come true or not…