He thrust his sword to the sky

Silence. Neither a whisper from the fallen or a groan from the living. Shoulders aching he rolled his head, neck twitched in response. He had done it. Looking around at his battled worn men, their tired smiles answered his silent question. Only wounds, none of the dead was his. Finally, he could smile. The air pulsated with strength, souls drifted from their now useless bodies, gliding to the Underworld at peace. The war was over, his kingdom had won. Joy pushed at his body, his skin tingling with a need to release. Armour groaning at being moved, he lifted his sword to the air. Droplets of sweat and blood dripped onto his face, metal gleaming against the morning sun he cheered.




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