Dark Age

He is young wrath manifest.

“My brothers! My sisters! My Iron Leopards! The battle today is to decide the fate of our Society. Whether we cave to the tide of anarchy, the despoiling mob!” He points his arm. “Or whether we carve our own destiny and build a second Age of Order upon the bodies of the slave horde. We have shattered their fleet! But soon more ships will come from their infernal, restless factories to rescue the Slave King and his horde. When they come, what will they find?”

“Ash,” the legion booms.

The skin on Seraphina’s neck prickles with goosebumps

I did not beat the Reaper. I simply hit him when he was down. I hold no illusions of martial supremacy, my victory was against a broken host and a bedraggled man. The legends of our age die one by one, like autumn leaves; and when they are gone, will we be lesser for their absence?

At ten meters, just as Darrow swerves to my left, I swerve right and take my shot. I flick Kalindora’s razor in an underhand toss. It carries forward and disappears into Darrow’s chest. Just as the horses draw even, I swing Alexandar’s razor with my left arm, digging my toes into the stirrups and driving with my legs to meet his slingBlade as we pass