[SHORT STORY] The Death Of Mordekaiser
_This is a short story about Mordekaiser's final battle as a human or rather the final minutes of it. Written by me. Hope you all enjoy! _
The caws of ravens' and crows' became louder minute by minute, as more birds gathered to join the enormous flock circling over the battlefield. They were ready for the feast that awaited them below. Thousands of bodies were strewn over a large area; a once green plain north of Varju mountains. Blood stained the grass blades, reflecting the last rays of sunlight, as dusk settled. The only men left alive were Mordekaiser and the remains of his adversaries' army. The iron-clad warlord stood alone against four hundred. Four hundred warriors stricken with fear and grief after their fallen comrades. Tightening his grip on the handle of his mace, Nightfall, Mordekaiser straightened his pose and looked to his enemies. Each breath caused him pain so great, the tyrant thought his lungs were bursting within his chest. Still, it was nothing compared to what he would have to endure, if he decided to move... All of his muscles ached from lack of oxygen and blood; the innumerable blows he received left deep, bleeding wounds all over his body... Had he been at full strength, Mordekaiser would emerge from this day victorious, alas... Even the mace he grew so accustomed to wielding weighed heavy in his hand, as if it wanted to escape his weakened grip; the warlord felt betrayed by both his body and weapon. Despite all that, he took a step forward, his foot landing on a fallen soldier's spear, causing its shaft to splinter into pieces under his iron boot. The loud crack was carried across the entire battlefield, breaking the tense silence for just a moment. Some of the men in the first line faltered and moved a step backward. No matter the pain and all the damage he suffered, Mordekaiser didn't allow himself to look any less imposing. His enemies didn't realize just how much of the blood on his armor was his own. The tyrant raised his mace's heavy, spiked head to his waist height and kept moving forward... Finally, a greatsword-wielding man from the opposing army stepped out of the ranks. His weapon and armor were finer than those of his comrades; clearly one of the commanders. And judging by the way he moved with the greatsword, also a skilled swordsman. “Your forces are in ruin, tyrant”, said the man, resting his greatsword on his shoulder and pointing a finger at Mordekaiser. “We all watched you murder our brothers! Our sisters! Today it ends. We've come a long way and shall celebrate your downfall before the dawn comes”. Mordekaiser remained quiet for a moment, eyeing the warrior, before letting out a short laugh and smiling a little beneath his helmet. This reaction sent a wave of hushed, terrified whispers through the enemy ranks... “Does your own death amuse you?”, the swordsman assumed a battle stance, staying low on his feet, his greatsword pointing towards Mordekaiser. The men to his sides prepared for combat as well, rallying behind their leader. “Keep barking...”, Mordekaiser finally let his voice be heard. His usual deep and cold tone was hoarse and strained, but nonetheless powerful. “The weak gather in masses and in their foolishness believe they can stand against the powerful. None of you shall live long enough to witness my fall”. The warrior took a quick glance at his comrades and nodded his head. Pushing his leg off the hard ground, he lept forward swiftly, keeping his sword in a high position... Some of the men followed closely behind him. Despite their commander's courageous appeal, most of the warriors didn't want to engage in open combat with the warlord. Mordekaiser forced his body into a defensive stance, keeping his hand high on the mace's handle for better control. And it began. The commander closed the distance in three quick, long steps and immediately swung his greatsword at Mordekaiser, aiming its blade at a damaged pauldron, but the warlord knocked the weapon aside with the back of his left gauntlet, rotating his upper body and following up the parry with a horizontal mace swing. His opponent barely managed to evade the attack with a backstep; one of Nightfall's spikes dragged itself on the warrior's breastplate, leaving a deep scratch. Mordekaiser used the mace's momentum to essay another strike, but before it could connect one of the soldiers stepped in front of the warrior with a spear, posing it up, forcing Mordekaiser to stop and take a step backwards. Another one of his foes saw this as an opportunity and moved in with a hammer, but before he could strike, Mordekaiser regained his composure and swung his mace at him. While the man's hammer was still raised, warlord's mace smashed into his side, its spikes easily punching through the padding and chainmail. The force of the blow sent the man flying, his blood spilling from the open wound. Mordekaiser turned back to the enemy leader and spearman just in time to see the spear being thrust at him. He moved his torso slightly, letting the spearhead scrape its way along the left side of his breastplate. He then quickly brought his left arm down, grabbing the spear's shaft firmly... The spearman tried to wrench it out of Mordekaiser grasp, but the weapon wouldn't budge. Instead it was the warlord who pulled the soldier towards him, while motioning his mace up, smashing its heavy head against the man's chin. First the spikes entered the flesh, before the entire weight of the weapon crushed into his jaw, tearing the man's head right off. Mordekaiser backed off a few steps, trying to gain some distance from his foes, but the commander wouldn't allow him any rest. The warrior fell on him, swinging his greatsword at the warlord's gorget. The strike left a deep dent in Mordekaiser's armor and sent a powerful shock through his body. Barely staying on his feet, the warlord once again forced himself to stand upright. He tightened the grip on his mace's handle and tried to swing it... But his arm wouldn't budge. Neither would his legs... Mordekaiser took a deep breath, but thick blood entered his mouth instead. He spat it out and clenched his jaw. It was as if his body had just given up. Enemy leader took a step back and put himself low on his feet, before thrusting the greatsword, its point punching through Mordekaiser's armor, entering his stomach and penetrating upwards, before reemerging from his back. And there, from the newly made hole blood started spilling rapidly. By this point, Mordekaiser's veins were near empty, his blood contained only by the tight-fitted plates forming his armor. Every ounce he bled during this fight was now staining the ground around him... And Mordekaiser realized, his body was long dead, held up only by the sheer force of his will... He smiled slightly and forced his arm forward, grabbing the warrior by his head and lifting him up in the air. The swordsman clearly didn't expect that, groaning in pain he clenched his jaw and with all the might left in his lungs he shouted: “The Iron King bleeds!”, his loud, though strained, voice carried across the battlefield; his final rallying cry, before Mordekaiser crushed his head in his hand. He let the warrior's lifeless body fall on the ground and looked at the sword in his own stomach and all the blood staining the cloth of his armor crimson... His vision was slowly getting blurry and he knew he would soon fall... For even Mordekaiser couldn't live solely on willpower. Smiling, he raised his head to see the enemy army rushing towards him. Maggots all. A filthy mob of barbarians and fools. And behind them, standing atop a hill, he saw two beings he knew well. The sun finally hid behind the horizon and as the night fell, Kindred, the eternal hunters would start their harvest. But Mordekaiser knew all those worthless, fallen souls were nothing compared to his own. And they wouldn't have his. A roar of laughter escaped his mouth, becoming louder and louder, as the masses fell upon him...
