The storm above rumbled as if the heavens themselves were warning of the coming violence. Flashes of lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating his exhausted figure, casting long, dark shadows of the approaching soldiers below.
'Damn you, Sun God, what would just one lightning strike on my head cost you?'
Eight—no, nine of them—climbed the incline, their armored bodies gleaming with the reflected light of the storm. Each step they took up the muddy slope sent a jolt of pain through Sam's legs, his body wanting to collapse then and there, but his hand tightened around the sword's hilt. The rain mixed with the mud, creating a treacherous battlefield beneath his feet, and the metallic tang of blood filled the air.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but his vision blurred as exhaustion tugged at the corners of his mind. His limbs felt heavy, like lead, but there was no retreat. Not now, Not today. Today was the day he welcomed death.
