Descent of the Blade

The soft blade twisted with ease as it sought its descent into his heart. The warrior lay on his knees, his hands gripping the dirt as tiny specks found solace in jaded whorls on his finger tips creating benign traceries within. The cold from the shiny edge spread its wings into his warmth guiding rays of crimson on their outward journey. The first drop fell creating a surreal crown of dust and blood as though a loving pair of hands reached to embrace a loved one.

Outside, the battle cried out for more sacrifice, its insatiable hunger echoing the emptiness for which this very campaign was forged. Brethen watched their dear ones fall to the tumultuous clash of metal & flesh of selfless heroes as the flames of combat engulfed everything in its path.

Hadn't this been a recurring dream? Glory written in the silky dust of the battlegrounds by a thousand men clad in armor shining in the caressing rays of the sun as their eyes locked and hymns of victory echoed for innumerable generations to chant. A deafeningly silent darkness prevailed.