Shadowed figures moved across the blood soaked field; multi-colored curses flew from wands, leaving a horrendous trail of death and destruction. Yet the enemy moved forward persistently; slowly cutting down the shadowed warriors. What had started as a battle between hundreds quickly dropped to dozens. And only an hour and a half after the battle had begun two figures silhouetted by a bloodied dying sun stood in a ring of blood and gore, surrounded by the dead and dying bodies of their fellows.

The first man spat at his enemy's feet, an unholy fire burning in his killing curse green eyes.

The other man merely laughed at the action, a cold emotionless sound that struck a sense horror into ones heart. Drawing a sword, smirking at the boy (no. He was a man now, enough had happened for that come to pass) thinking that oh he had that boy now. There was no way that he knew how to fight without a wand. For he knew just as well as the first man did that their wands could never work against the others. The first man just smiled slightly and drew his own sword.

If anyone had still been there no one would have been able to tell who attacked whom first, or even who it was that gained first blood. It was a whirl of robes and blood and clashes of metal on metal so fast that it was hard to tell who was who.

And then it was over. The cruel man's words rang across the field, horrible triumph in his voice, "One for me," and the younger man just smiled softly. Still standing right in front of each other the first man slowly looked up smirking the whole way.

The cruel man gasped slightly as he saw the expression on the young mans face. He looked down, startled, and saw the hilt of the younger man's sword sticking out just below his ribs. He stumbled backwards pushing the younger man away. "Oh," he whispered, "Oh, I am slain."

And as the moon rose over a bloodied field, covered in bodies not a single soul standing; the world proclaimed their savior and mourned the loss of him all in one.


The Lines used in this are from Hamlet.