Monday, January 13, 2014


If my epic telekinetic display had been felt across the battlefield, Halkkor’s death reverberated.  The gasps of shock and cries of anger from the Firstborn echoed off the cavern walls and mingled with the celebratory shouts of my soldiers.  It was an eerie mixture of sounds.

I made eye contact with Jaelin, who was still a good distance away.  The bleeding from her neck didn’t appear to have stopped, but she wore a glowing grin and gave me a slight congratulatory nod.  I nodded back triumphantly.

Gavsot appeared at my elbow.  “He knew he had no chance of survival but he chose to die fighting,” he commented solemnly, staring down at the residue of Halkkor Soup.  “That demands respect.”

As the two armies resumed fighting around us following their brief intermission, I turned to give Gavsot a cockeyed expression.  “You don’t miss the guy or anything, right?” I asked.  “Don’t forget he was going to kill us all.”

General Gavsot nodded.  “I can admire my enemy, even if I loathe him.  He was a worthy adversary.”

“You want me to give you a few minutes alone with the body?” I asked.  Then, thinking better of it, I said, “I mean, with the puddle?  Or we can put his remains into a nice classy urn for you so you can ceremonially scatter his juices out into the lake of fire if you want.”  He didn’t say so, but based on the questioning look he gave me, it was clear that he didn’t understand my sarcasm.

“Never mind,” I said dismissively.  “We have some more Firstborn to kill.”  With my mind, I plucked a few dozen swords from the ground and began hurling them at enemy warriors.  Gavsot, now wielding two weapons, joined in with a more physical approach.

It was surprising how much Halkkor’s death had altered the morale of both armies.  It seemed that the Firstborn had immediately assumed upon the demise of their chieftain that they were suddenly on the losing side.  They continued fighting just as fiercely, however, but there seemed to be a sense of inevitable melancholy in the way they held themselves.  Perhaps the desire to go down fighting was deeply ingrained in their species.

My demons and Pit Guards, however, brimmed with excitement the moment Halkkor collapsed.  They had apparently drawn the same conclusion that their enemies had and were excited to see their assumed victory become a reality.  In a burst of violent energy, my army made several more key kills that shifted the momentum irrevocably in our favor.  Gavsot and I began barking instructions to our followers, manipulating our forces in such a way that all the remaining Firstborn were enclosed in a circle, hemmed in on all sides by a militia composed of Hell’s good guys.

Despite their obvious disadvantages, it was astonishing how long they continued to fight.


  1. Rest in peace Proud Warrior Race Guys. You will be missed. T-T.

    1. Is a rendition of "Taps" in order?

    2. I'd think Resting in Peace would be a bad thing for them. Eternally War, Firstborn, in whatever After-Afterlife ye find thyselves in upon your glorious demise. Valhalla or whatever.