MAJOR SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 4. Descriptions of gore and death.
The Dark Knight asterisk battle from the holder's perspective.
It hurt.
Everything hurt. His chest, which had been aching for months when he thought about her, was on fire, pain tearing through him with each new breath. His muscles were beyond fatigued, and it was only pure adrenaline and rage that were holding him up, pure will that was keeping his hand wrapped around his sword. The thick taste of blood was in his mouth and he coughed wetly against the inner walls of his helmet as he fought for breath.
And yet, he had never felt stronger. Though darkness pulsed at the edge of his vision, his sight was keen as ever as he kept his eyes on the enemy, the group of four that contained that vile witch, the hapless bumpkin, the odd and misplaced man, and her. Edea Lee, the love of his life and the light in an otherwise bleak existence. A light that he remained focused on, even now.
Her latest hit had gone through an open spot in his armor and pierced his side; he could feel blood trickling down his hip and leg. Despite himself, he smiled. Good girl. She had always been strong, always been one to notice an enemy's weakness. Another movement and his vision went black for the briefest of moments.
Alternis had tried to reason with her for months and would do so even now, but for that moment, reason fled his brain just as surely as blood left his body. He always knew he would die in service of the Lees, and had never expected it would be at her hands. But so be it. He just - a little longer - if he could -
"Edea… I had thought that once I had proven myself, I could take you as my bride." He barely knew what he was saying, but if she would hear him out, he could die a happy man.
"Now's not the time for such rubbish, Alternis!" was her reply, and though deep down he knew she was right, that he had planned for years to propose to her when they were older, perhaps when she was Grand Marshal, and peace had been achieved throughout all of Luxendarc, her words stung harsher than any wound.
"Rubbish?" he repeated, aghast, and he came crashing back to reality. His wounds ached, his chest heaved with fresh pain, the wound in his side felt like it had been dipped in poison. He let out a wordless, infuriated scream and focused on that pain, letting it fuel him. Perhaps her foolish actions had caused the complete destruction of the Lord Marshal's ideals, but with his dying breaths, he swore to show her just how foolish she had been.
As a Dark Knight, he was at his strongest when he was hurt. As he stood there dying, he would be unstoppable.