At least a dozen mages stood guard around the foot of the stairs and began blasting the templars with spells the moment the soldiers entered the room. Two middle-aged Enchanters targeted Mattox as his fellows fought the rest. After dodging and evading their magic, Mattox sliced one of the mages in half with his two-handed broadsword, but the other managed to hit the templar with a force spell. Although he negated the worst of it, Mattox still flew across the room and landed on his back.
The fighting continued around him as he lay there with the wind knocked out of him for several moments. Before he attempted to rise, the second mage closed in on him. Mattox closed his eyes and waited until the mage stood over him. Before she could hit him with a second spell, he rolled to his side and kicked the enchanter's feet from under her. It stunned the woman enough for him to accelerate to his knees and drive his blade through the center of her chest, splattering blood all over his face and armor.
Mattox scanned the room to assess the situation only to find things were growing worse by the second. While he was down, more templars had joined the fray to battle even more enemy mages. To make matters worse, the slain templars were raised to aid the gifted. An older lieutenant with a scorched face and most of his hair missing ran toward Mattox with his sword held high in the air. Before he could bring it down on Mattox's head, the younger man ran his blade through the lieutenant's throat.
From his rear, Mattox sensed a fireball hurtling toward him but negated it before it hit its mark. As he fought on, it took everything the young knight had to stay alive. With so many risen templars and errant magic flying about, the soldiers who remained alive couldn't get near the mages. The live templars' numbers were dwindling fast, and Mattox wasn't sure how he managed to survive for so long.
The sound of thunder from above drew Mattox's attention long enough to entice him to look up. A dark cloud bearing unnatural lightning storms began gathering overhead. That's when fire began to rain down on everything. Mattox ducked into an alcove to weather the worst of it only to find three of his fellows there. The men weren't corpses, but they attacked him anyway. They must have fallen under the spell of one of the blood mages. But how? Mattox didn't even realize such a thing was possible.
It wasn't until after he took the men down that Mattox realized the true gravity of his situation. Until that point, he had never even wounded a man, let alone killed one, and the guilt that washed over him was much worse than he ever imagined. Within moments, corpses descended on him to take the dead men's place, leaving Mattox little time to dwell on his culpability. The fight remained constant after that. Upon entering the room, Mattox was prepared to die. A small part of him even looked forward to the release from his heartbreak, but he soon found his will to live stronger than his melancholy and fought with everything he had to stay alive.
By the time he drank his last lyrium potion, the templar knew it was hopeless. His exhaustion and aching muscles bade him to surrender, but his warrior soul wouldn't allow it. He would continue to fight until his body collapsed or an enemy blade or spell dealt a fatal blow.
After what seemed like hours of fighting, he and only one other templar named Cullen were all that remained alive. Mattox's sword grew heavier in his hands by the minute, and his head pounded like a forge as he fought corpse after corpse and mage after mage.
He removed the head of another undead templar and turned in time to see a massive fireball hurtling toward him. Calling upon his inner strength and the last of the lyrium to negate the spell, Mattox shut his eyes and prayed.
If this is to be my end, please let it come quickly.
Then, the world went black.