It was a dark and stormy night. Not really, but it had been. It was still raining, and the ground was more mud than dirt. Each passing minute took more and more from the moonlight, and so darkness was slowly taking over this forest. Not that anyone would care.
The only thing left lingering in the patches of moonlight were two figures, both of which had long since lost their sense of hope. They had seemed to be in a dead stalemate for that entire day, and they were both too weary and hurt to continue.
The larger of the two figures fell to his knees on the sopping wet ground, while holding one arm close to his side. It seemed to be broken and was definitely bleeding, possibly from a stab wound. After all, that's how the battle had begun.
He lay there silently, breath wheezing slightly and breathing heavily. A low growl escaped his throat, and his golden eyes flashed red.
They had begun the previous day in the same way. The smaller figure had pierced the larger's arm, with a knife if you will, and would have killed this person if he hadn't been faster. He had quickly retaliated, by stabbing that same knife into the other's shoulder. But the needle-like sword didn't pierce as deep as he'd have liked, and it did not go deep enough to break the bone. The knife had cut cleanly along the skin, and quickly the two of them had rolled and grappled to the ground. At this point they had gotten up and ran at each other, swinging and cursing at each other like there were no tomorrow. Many times they had said such things as "I should've done it!" and "You deserved it!" to each other. It was a great show of power for the men of this time.
But as they kept running, their wounds kept opening up and bleeding like this and that. Eventually, each had stopped and fell to his knees.
The one with golden eyes took a few deep breaths and felt as though he were about to die. The one with silver eyes looked on at the other with a sort of morbid curiosity. He'd never seen anything more terrifying. After all, he was the one who'd done the deed.
He seemed calm at first. But then he laughed. And it wasn't the kind of laughter that a normal person would do. It was high, evil, and very wicked indeed. He turned away from the other and began packing up the remaining supplies from earlier that day. He'd helped steal them from the dead bodies of his own followers.
Soon he had everything except his leather cloak on his back. It was a hybrid cloak worn on the shoulders, with two leather straps crossing each other and held together by a metal chain. He felt that he'd lost a lot of blood, and a heavy rain would soon soak everything they had brought. He didn't want to sit, so he decided to get as far from the other as he could. The other had been injured, but far weaker than him. He wondered how much more of his blood the other would have left. The sound of sizzling and cracking made him turn around to face the mountain the two were in.
What he saw was the most terrifying thing he would ever experience. The other was engulfed in flames. The fire spread throughout the entire area, burning through everything. The other came towards him again, or rather, a demon in the shape of the other. It was as if he'd been frozen, unable to move. The other had destroyed the demon's fortune by turning him into something else.
Showering the demon with spells, he woke up and saw that, though the demon had been caught in a fire, he had not burned. He felt that he should have, but never noticed that he couldn't move. He cursed the other. Right there he should've killed him.
He lunged at the other, but was instantly thrown back. The other slowly walked towards him, still in the form of a demon. He threw another spell, but it didn't do much. He bore into his opponent, but was knocked back again.
The fight was going on and on now. He was getting more and more angry. He didn't know how to protect himself from this kind of attack, so he had to keep resaling with lesser attacks. He barely got close enough to throw a killing blow.
Finally, for once, it seemed like the demon was losing. He was too tired to fight back, too wounded, and he was sure he'd lost a lot of blood. But he didn't want it to all end like this, so he cast a single spell that he had been saving for a long time. He would've never let himself use it in battle, but the other had forced him to do it.
The spell was supposed to make him invisible. It would help him escape when he was on the verge of death. Maybe this was the end. But, of course, the spell failed, and the demon was still there, still moving, still alive...
An arm was thrust out, and a hand was in the demon's face. He had forgotten about the demon's last desperate attack.
He rose slowly, unable to breathe from the searing fire in his chest. His head was pounding, and his eyesight was getting worse. He could hear the other getting up. He tried to yell, but he was instantly choked off. The last thing he saw was a sword flash out of the other's hand and into his eye.
He fell backwards, every muscle in his body completely relaxed. He thought he saw something in the other's hand as well, some sort of relic that... That completely changed everything.
And then, suddenly everything was black, an ominous darkness was surrounding every corner.
