A field of bodies- death, destruction, carnage, and blood- was all that stood before the Light-hearted Paladin. He grimaced, ran his hand on the pommel of his sword, a blood-soaked blade sheathed only in a loop around his waist. His great, golden hair flowed as the winds swept past him; he pursed his lips grimly as he stared into the corpse-ridden field.
His armor- a gleaming, golden collection of plate- was the only brightness that could be seen for miles, as if it were blessed as the only source of Light in the area. His boots clatter against the rocks and stones beneath him, crushing skulls as he moved through the area.
No sound. No life. No color around him, himself being the only sign of coloration.
He yelled, but to no avail. He couldn't even hear himself. It was as if death had taken over his voice, as well as the place he were standing in.
The Paladin then felt a coldness that he had never felt before. His surroundings, as he saw with his very eyes, turned into ice. Snowfall. Then the abrupt clinking of metal approaching.
The Paladin turned and stared into the face of evil. In all his glory, his most hated enemy was standing before him, grinning madly through his helmet, his azure-hilted blade sheathed at his side. Flowing, silver hair of evil escaped the bottom of the metal, dark bucket.
Again, no sound. The Paladin only knew that his time had come. The road he had taken through his life was to end here. The dark, armored monster from beyond had unsheathed his blade and raised it high above his head, sneered. The ringing of the blade being brought down was the last thing that was heard through the Paladin's ears.
Then darkness.
