The Fall of Turel
And then they were alone. Raziel and Turel, destined to be the last survivors of the Sarafan Generals, discounting Malek. Senses tuned towards the approaching doom, they didn't speak until the screams of pillar guardians reached their ears.
"Vorador. I had never believed he would have the courage." Vorador was unusually pragmatic for a vampire, and tended to avoid conflict beyond his hunts or the command of his sire.
"Hot blood breeds incaution. We slew his sire." Raziel sighed "Death brings rage...or despair." H e leaned on his sword. "Do you think he'll escape the stronghold?"
"If he does, he will bleed for it. Malek or Moebius will not be hospitable."
"Do you think so? Moebius ever has his own agenda. We're caught in one of his machinations."
"Whether he does or not, there's little to be done now. We must accept our fate." Turel would always fulfil his duty. If that involved martyrdom, so be it.
A gate crashed down, and they heard their brethren raise voices in challenge.
"Come to take your revenge, demon?"
"Back to hell with you!"
Turel stood up. "Our time wanes. Good luck." He made to embrace Raziel, who saw the dagger palmed behind his wrist just in time to stop it cutting his throat. A brief struggle ensued, resulting in each of them getting a blade to each other's throat.
"I should have you strung from the fortress walls!" Raziel hissed.
Turel laughed. "How unbearable. I should be executed by Sarafan council tomorrow instead of murdered by our blue demon today. What a fate! I should become bored!" A pause. "Come, what would I gain from killing you now? If I thought that would connect, I wouldn't have attempted anything. An assassination attempt always lifts you from despair, have you not noticed?"
In spite of himself, Raziel smiled. Turel lowered his weapons and turned, looking through the bars at Rahab and Dumah. Dimly, they heard the first suit of armour hit the ground.
"Thank you, Turel...for trying to kill me." He paused. "I wonder...has that ever been said before by any assassination victim in history?"
After a time, the second suit of armour hit the ground, and they heard a rising gate. Brethren had fallen. More still soon would. They waited.
"...We will not fall lightly!" Dumah said, in the room ahead.
I envy your conviction...
The gate rose.
"Have you come reclaim the monster's black heart?"
"You'll have to get through us, first."
As blades clashed within, Turel, looked to his brother. "Time is short. Go."
Raziel fled. Turel donned his helm and waited. Rahab and Dumah forced the creature to flee them briefly, but it could not break the locks, and turned back. Having sparred with the two Generals, Turel knew they weren't displaying fractions of their talent. Rahab fell, his indifference notable. Dumah then stepped up his game, but only enough to teach the creature to respect him. Like all creatures of vampiric origin, it was lazy, relying on strength to save it from threats, completely disdaining any opposition. Once his point was made, Dumah, too, let himself fall.
The locks clicked open, and only plate steel and his own skill separated Turel of the Sarafan from his death.
Always, in life, he'd striven to do his duty. Whether that meant subduing Audron as Raziel ripped his black heart from his chest, or waiting for a vengeful demon to run him through, he would, and had, followed orders to his death. If this was one of Moebius' games, then...so be it. He would abide by his duty.
Having been concentrating on Rahab and Dumah, Turel was shocked as his death came through the gates. It was Raziel. A distorted, destroyed spectre, true, but still recognisable as the Sarafan who had just left. Even his stride was visible, adapted for a thing with claws and fangs, but still recognisable that as his younger reflection. Faced with such a creature, what he had planned to say left him, and he came out with the weak "Get back to the pit you crawled from, demon!" He'd seen demons before, and this creature was certainly not akin to them, but nor was it a vampire, and he had no other name. Wraith, perhaps.
The wraith-demon paused, a shard of a second's respite, as though acknowledging the denial. The glowing eyes flickered a moment, and Turel was sure they briefly blazed with hate for some past/future wrong. But philosophical thoughts had no place in duelling, and abruptly the wraith-demon was on him.
Any doubts that it was a revived Raziel fell instantly when they clashed. The style of battle was similar to that of the Sarafan General he'd spent years sparring with. Adapted, yes, with the occasional display of something new, but Turel was used to facing vampirically revived former comrades, and it took him little time to gain the measure of his opponent. The wraith-demon appeared to have long buried memories of Turel's particular duelling style, here and there pre-empting a particular attack or block, but Turel had fresh memories, and he used them well, stepping in and outside the creature's range as though this was a prearranged battle, using the extra length his spear gave him to good effect.
Unlike the others, Turel's goal was not simply to provide a token resistance and die. Raziel was still in flight, and he needed time to reach his prescribed place of execution, as well as set a few things in place. Also, he wanted to give him an opportunity to reflect. So he fought down the future wraith creature to the best of his abilty for several minutes. The preceding brethren had taught the creature to be respectful of his adversaries, and not to dismiss them merely because of his immortality. Thus, the creature fought with all his considerable speed, strength, and agility, but new and old hates made him careless, and Turel delivered several spine crushing wounds had he been facing a mere vampire. But this creature's muscle and sinew body healed instantly, and the most powerful of Turel's strikes could do no more than knock him to his knees. Throat, spine, skull, all received wounds, but the creature fought on unheeding.
When he judged enough time had elapsed, Turel began allowing strokes to slip past his guard. He had not been told to live today. And even his murderer privately acknowledged that Turel was nothing else if not dutiful. Thus the final stroke punched through his chest, and he died to the sound of a rising gate, beckoning his killer on to the final, final battle.