Death of a Hero
Drabble prompted on the Flowerpot discord server, 'Write a scene inspired by the phrase Hold the door in the style of other writer.' The original context was a bit more bizarre and included a conversation about the GoT character Hodor.
A drabble about holding doors in the style of HonorverseFan. This one is fairly AU
Feets scrambled behind, the sound of metal against stone amping the nerves, cruel laughter and a language that was as alien to the ears as the singing of the distant stars. Hands tightened on the leather grips of his weapons.
He turned and look at the otherworldly visions behind him, two little girls, shining like the moon and shivering in fright like tiny glittering stars.
His hair fell upon his darkened green eyes.
Run, he said, and run they did. He would hold this door if it was the last thing he did.
A devilish grin peaked through the darkness and tense muscles sent a cruel spear flying, tearing the face in half. Dozens of creatures broiled out of the hallway scrambling over the wasted body, slipping on its black ichor.
He answered their infernal tittering the only way he knew how. With a scream of steel and magic, of rage and mourning.
An explosion of will saw limbs flying, his powerful swings hacking through the roiling mass of black and grins in an ark tearing all around him. Claws reached him, scratching before being cut down until he no longer could feel resistance against his enchanted sword.
It lay a few feet in front, cleaved into the torso of a rapidly decomposing creature, his arms still attached to it.
He stood defeated.
He closed his eyes, the tearing claws no longer painful, the insane cracking fading into nothing as his head started to feel light. They were safe, he had won.
He opened his eyes, hopeful of a glimpse of the night sky before the end. The creatures were gone, reduced to nothing. Almost as if they never existed. There on the firmament, next to the moon, laid two drops of divinity, shining with unmatched strength.
'You did well, Man.'
He lowered his eyes to the figure that had spoken. It was a man of unmatched beauty, a carefree half-smile on his youthful face and a winged helmet snug against golden tresses.
'They are safe, and it's time we left.'
He smiled at the familiar stranger and took his hand. A blink, and he knew no more.
He had held the door.
