Blades clashed in the dead of night. The metal clanging rang in the empty air accented by the valiant cries of battling warriors. A pair of expired bodies lay on the battlefield in broken chainmail armor and torn markings belonging to the kingdom nearby.
"Geola!" The last guard remaining cries as his last ally falls. Geola reached for his sword feebly before falling limp. Cepel felt tears brimming his eyes. He ran at the warrior in the harlequin mask. They push Cepel away and, with a lucky slice, splatter Cepel's blood on the dirt. He coughed and knelt, holding his shoulder as it stained his gauntlet. He eyed the horizon just past his opponent. His reinforcements were supposed to arrive soon… he had to buy more time.
Cepel lunged and stabbed at the mask itself, aiming to get it off and reveal the bastard wreaking havoc. The wound caused him to falter and another swift strike was dealt to his leg, keeping him kneeled below the harlequin. Cepel gripped his sword tightly. The fight began at twilight, yet the warrior never grew tired.
From the shadows, another group of soldiers raced in only to see the aftermath. The harlequin raised their blade. He smiled. He had held them off just long enough. Cepel dropped his sword and turned to the army.
"Someone," Cepel coughed, "run! Go and tell M-"
The head rolled before the body dropped. Scattered gasps erupted from the reinforcements as they stared in silence. The commander tightened his grip on his blade and gulped.
"Claihd, fall back and inform his Lordship." He said between his teeth. A green-clad swordsman beside him stepped forward with a hesitant nod.
"But... what about you, Lann?" He asked.
"We're going to give it our all. Now go!" Lann ordered. Claihd's legs carried him fast and far before he fully grasped Lann's words. Swords met suddenly behind him, stuttering his gait in fear. He had to refuse the urge to look back despite the shouts and devastation beckoning to him. Claihd shook his head and pushed himself faster towards the kingdom of Dreamland.
Lann watched his companion flee as he gathered his own nerves and faced the clown-faced freak. They stared back at him with unblinking eye-lights shrowded in black. A quirk he recognized many knights to have. Usually, knights that were much stronger than he. He begged silently that Claihd would get to the castle in time. The nervous shuffling behind him brought him back to the task at hand. He braced himself and pointed his sword ahead, the army charging from behind him and pouncing on Clown-face.
They remained unflinching. Each weapon glanced off their blade as if they were batting away flies. Lann watched Clown-face fight, studying them a moment and piecing together a strategy. Eyes toward the sky, he squinted at the darkened moon overhead and hummed softly to himself. With a short signal, he informed the army to go defensive. They merely had to tire the knight out, that was all he needed to stand a chance.
Lann looked once again at Clown-face and shuddered. While batting away his army, they kept their eyes on him. Head stationery. That wicked grin plastered on the pallid mask. Blood hadn't been drawn yet. He grimaced and leaped into the fray. The lancers stabbed at a distance behind Clown-face. Swordsmen meeting them in head-on dueling. As Lann approached, the mask seemed to grin wider. With an expert motion, they disarmed a swordsman and slashed their throat. The man twirled to the ground causing Lann to rush faster towards that demon.
"Hmph, he's toying with us." He grumbled, lunging.
"Of course."
Lann's blade was caught by theirs. He staggered backward, giving Clown-face room. A massive chill swept the battlefield as ice encased the army, leaving them as statues in mid-battle. Lann gaped at the rows of halted comrades. His legs refused to function. Clown-face straightened and rested their blade on their shoulder. The blood dripping from it trailed down their back.
"What the…?" Lann said around the thick lump in his throat.
"And I'm getting bored."