Last Resort

Thomas's breath came in ragged gasps, he was stooped over, his right hand placed against a rough pine tree. He could hear the irritating clank of their platemail. An old man shouldn't have to exert himself like this! Sweat dripped from his chin, a patch of white hair on it, matching the long hair on his skinny head. He turned around slowly, facing his pursuers. He grinned and his wrinkled face seemed as if it could crack.

Thomas clenched the staff in his left hand, he knew it was pointless, but he wasn't going down as some little whelp would.

"Thomas Thatcher! Your crimes against the kingdom of Britainnia are far too numerous to name and as such you have been sentenced to death," Thomas couldn't see any of their faces, only their eyes. Cowards, all of them. Twenty guards against one old coot, not quite fair odds.

So be it.

He had one last ace up his sleeve, either way he was going to lose. Might as well put on a show before I kick the bucket. His old elbow popped as he slid his bony hand into a pocket, pulling out a scroll that seemed to devour the very light about it, resembling the night sky. With one swift motion, he unrolled it. Deep crimson symbols were drawn upon it. Thomas began to cackle loudly.

He uttered in a deep voice, "Kal An Lor Vas Xen Hur Corp!" The still air instantly turned into violent wind, a black rip appeared in existence itself. The guards gasped. The height of it was unreal, it made a giant seem puny in comparison. It expanded, two gigantic arms shot out of it, the rift burst into an enormous black gate. A daemon emerged from it, unlike anything Thomas had ever seen before. Its wingspan turned day into night, completely blocking the sun's light. When the beast spoke, Thomas's ears began to bleed, it boomed louder than the mightiest of all thunderstorms.

"For. Your. Soul," The monolithic being looked upon the guards, mere insects to it. Every last muscle bulged as it swept its clawed hand above them, never touching them once. They died instantly. Thomas fought to hold in his last meal as he watched blood gush forth from every slit and opening in their metal armor. Brain matter, intestines, even teeth were scattered on the ground, they had squeezed and shot out from the mush that was their bodies. All twenty, dead.

Thomas's legs were weak, he leaned against his staff one last time, before turning to his reaper. The daemon was staring at him. He met its gaze, released his companion, it hit the ground with a clack. "Take me," he said. He had lived a nice long life, full of excitement. He was ready to go, but still his body and mind raced, trying to cling to the memories of the past, remembering each and every moment of joy, sorrow, anger, boredom, and danger. A single tear crawled towards his chin. His heart stopped, he looked up as his body fell to the ground.


He died.