He was agile. He was quick. But more so, he was determined—to have ran along the high walls of their city, within the maw of their onslaught, through the volley of their arrows, he had managed to have that trumpet cry out in resound. Of course, it was too late. The great horde of Hedon cannot be stopped—they are a storm that ravages, a fire that consumes. But to see such defiance and spirit from such a…boy… was more than enough to have the warlord feel the fires of his fury blaze on all for him—whatever courage he had, whatever resilience, whatever spark in him that awakened all of their spirits to try and fight on, to try and dare to see through their culling, he just yearned to crush it like the ripest fruit of their harrowing harvest. That smeared with blood and gristle, the warlord still walked up to the steps of their temple, hacking down anyone who still tried to fight and come into his way that by the time he reached the heart of it, there was nothing more but the silence of their demise. And soon, doom shall fall onto Dameios’ quarry.
With a mighty kick the door broke into shambles, and with his eyes burning with that brewing furnace, he finally set his eyes onto him. The warlord’s bared chest swelled into their fullness, mighty and broad, as he cracked a sneer. “------you thought you were so smart, aren’t you…”
