El’rathien’s gaze was upon the encroaching darkness. They were legion, and he was one, the only one standing between the elves and them. He was their only hope, but he was set to the task. He slicked back his once silver hair behind his pointed ears, it was now blackened with the blood of his foe. He adorned his ornate armour, once worn by a hundred champions that stood before him. He wielded a long, curved blade, gifted to him by the king for his many victories. He stood defiant before the bridge of eternity, the only pass to his homeland. Against the odds, this would be his last stand.

El’rathien was confident in his ability. Confident in his skill. All elves were trained for battle from the moment they could hold a sword, they perfected every aspect of war into a deadly art. Every part of them, every fibre of their being, was a weapon crafted for battle. El’rathien was exceptional, some even say blessed by the gods. He has had many names among the Elves and his enemies, but one he held with pride. The demon slayer.

A mass of fang and claw were almost upon El’rathien. He could smell the tang of iron from their gore-matted hides. The faces of the demons were curled into a wicked snarls, their black eyes fixated on the lonely figure on the bridge. With a roar from their leader, the army halted. He was immense in stature and wore a belt of bloodied trophies, taken from the battle that had raged moments before. Two great gnarled horns upon his head separated him from the other demons. He stepped out in front of his army and inspected its formation before turning back to El’rathien.

“Where is your army, elf?” It hissed mockingly.

El’rathien twisted his sword in his hands, feeling it’s weight. It was all he needed. He was ready. He closed his eyes and muttered a prayer. A white light cascaded around him, glowing like an aura.

Opening his eyes, El’rathien replied with a grin. I am the army.


Will El’rathien meet his demise? Part 2 coming next week! Thank you for reading.