The soldiers are broken, routed and fleeing like a flock of birds after a thrown stone. Barely a dozen still remain by their commander’s side, and their stances display their decision to leap in unison onto death. They lift their spears for another launch even as they know that their enemy will simply intercept them again.

“Desperation. Refusal. Finality.” Greufard charges from their line’s right and delivers an upward swing which connects with the arcing scythe. The spears, however, still miss; the soldiers are left with only their greatswords and their greatshields – some of the latter barely usable at all – and so they jump into the fray.

Two more swings remove two more heads but the third meets the knight’s shield. As the blow registers, the knight’s legs struggle from giving out, his energy drained and his vision shaken. The runes on the shield are glowing – the ones on the upper right and lower left. Further observation is not allowed as the warhammer returns for the soldier he just defended. His shield moves up in time before it smashes into him as well, tossing him backwards where the mossy ground does nothing to soften his fall.

“Avoid the hammer. You won’t be able to take another hit like that one, Knight Diastre. Now listen.” Iacy assists him back onto his feet and inspects the straps behind the shield. “Although he can dispel it, he’d need to expend energy and that would also inevitably create an opening which you must utilise, but until-” she tightens the knot with another piece torn from her clothing, “but until then, I can amass in him a Core Of Woe. Simpler words: I can take away his luck and increase yours. His superior speed could be gradually nullified and you could land-” The knight lunges at the goddess as a large shadow looms and thickens before something heavy crashes onto where they were crouching.

A pair of hands pushes him from behind. “Shield! Trust! One last-” But she is cut off again by the warhammer, though the shield manages to block most of the impact, more than before. Iacy gasps. “But no more.” Standing back up without sparing any time to look back, the knight dashes off in the Shade’s direction; one such close call on the Lady Luck is the only risk he can afford.

The Shade, now focused on the lone knight, backs up for the scythe to slice forth. The knight rolls away before continuing his advance. Both their moves repeat twice more before the warhammer attempts to put an end to the deadly acrobat performance, and the knight chances a leap and then another roll, this time towards the Shade who has reached too far out with bony hands much too exposed. The knight slashes above his head with his sword Sharpened and then bashes the shield onto the Shade, the latter which might have been a hasty mistake if not for Greufard interrupting the Shade by slashing from behind.

The Shade hovers away to create some distance, and a roar erupts and the air stills for a blinking briefness. Recognising the moment, the knight retrieves a spear from a pile of abandoned gear and flings it at the Shade, the spear singing a metallic song while sailing through the air. The tip plunges into the Shade’s chest right as a bleeding bony hand grabs the metal rod a halfsecond too late, and the Shade sinks down onto the ground. Shouting with fervour, the commander with the feathered helm strikes from the side, spearing deeply. But the knight can only watch from a distance-too-far as the Shade lifts off back into the air, that momentum unbalancing the commander who was in the process of pulling back his spear. The scythe then arcs full circle and the commander is carried with it, a blade punching into his chest and out of his back.

“Again!” Iacy calls out, her golden eyes glowing brightly as the knight turns to see.

He needs not another word. The knight picks up his sword and charges, this time alongside Greufard with his axe in both hands. The commander’s corpse shot through them, and they split up on impulse. Back in range, the scythe meets shield and Screens. Straining and bracing under impact after impact, the knight prepares for any moment when the warhammer might make a comeback like before, but it does not. Howling and screaming, the Shade swings the scythe in wild arcs, and after seemingly dozens, one swing finally manages to allow a timely recoil. The knight chances a ranged thrust below where the spear he threw still protrudes, his sword gleaming up with a dazzling blue.

Alas, the Shade limply skates backwards and swings, and the knight has to abandon the thrust. With the scythe going for another swing at the knight, Greufard leaps to strike at the waist, and once the Shade lowers to the ground due to the sudden weight from the side, Greufard pulls the axe back to bring it down again at the shoulder of the hand that holds the scythe. An opening has never shown itself wider; the knight thrusts with the Sharpened sword and yanks it out immediately after. The Shade screams straight at his face. The screaming heightens into a sharp screech as Greufard goes on hacking at the shoulder until the arm falls off, then he leaves the axe buried deep into the socket after one final hurl, just by the neck. A silence falls dead.

“No more power.” A sudden voice sounds. “No!” The word lengthens into a scream and quickly into a wail. The Shade’s remaining hand still grips the embedded spear with trembling bony fingers. “What now?” The question is another wail, and the next few ones are unintelligible though they are as loud and as sharp and as filled with agony.

The knight’s ears are ringing; the air is shaking again. But in all this, he can hear his heart, booming loud in the beat of incomprehensible relief. Greufard himself has plopped down onto the ground, hands dangling on his knees, his teeth clenched and his eyes shut tightly. Iacy slowly arrives to place her hand onto the knight’s, but, regrettably, her warmth cannot trespass the steel of his armour.

The double-bladed scythe vanishes into dark dust, returning to an unknown abyss whence it came.