The Last Man

1. Servants of Evil

A mixture of hatred and anger coursed through his veins as he sprinted through the trees. A haunting image filled his mind: his wife, dead. Her body mutilated almost beyond recognition. He could still hear his own cry of anguish echoing throughout his head.

Zurin had destroyed his world, starting with his allies, then his friends and comrades. Now Zurin was tearing at his family. He could remember each of them dying, and every memory stung him, like a needle that never got blunt. The only fragment of hope remaining was his young son, who was with a trusted friend.

My son is still an infant- he is fragile. How can I put so much hope on him?

And anyway, what is hope worth now? All it can do is run out.

The forest, once familiar, looked alien to him. Everything he once knew had been lost. He was even starting to lose himself, for he could not face the fear that everything would lead to a dead end. Inevitably, the dead end. All was pointless. He almost wished for death. He gave a hollow laugh, heavy with irony and devoid of all humour.

Why do I run from that which I would welcome freely? I should stand and fight, the way a warrior should die. On the front foot.

By now the fear had left him, leaving behind a reckless anger. He no longer cared what happened to him. He only wanted to kill the creature, the cursed servant of Zurin, that had ripped apart his life. He could now feel their presence, palpable in the air.

Stopping abruptly, he turned to face the tangle of sneering branches and the heart of the forest behind them. He unsheathed his sword, twirled it and held it before him. A faint blue glow emanated from the sapphire set in the hilt. The moonlight reflecting off the deadly blade seemed to slice through the surrounding air. His breath formed vapour in front of him, like the dying breath of a dragon, and dissipated into the night sky with a certain finality. Still there was no sign of the creature. He stood in the darkness, awaiting them.

A blood curdling shriek shattered the silence with its piercing sound.

It was here.

He shivered; the noise sent tingles down his spine. The Azkrin. The most feared servants of Zurin, yet I feel no fear. I only feel numbness. As if my emotions have been wiped out, apart from a cold anger.

" Reveal yourself! I am not afraid of you, nor of death," he shouted. "I am Eradní, son of Erados. The last of the Five."

As he spoke, a dark silhouette formed out of the shadows. A hooded creature, its features hidden in the darkness. Its inhuman voice was snakelike and cracked.

" You come to us freely?" it rasped. You are... foolish. We did not want you, we wanted your secrets." It approached Eradní slowly.

" You don't understand, do you?" Eradní replied icily. " I won't let you win." He pointed the blade towards the Azkrin's chest.

" No!" The Azkrin hissed vehemently, moving swiftly and stopping his arm with an invisible barrier.

"Where are the swords?" it said. Eradní stared coldly at the black void inside its hood, saying nothing. An iron grip suddenly clenched Eradní's mind, boring into his thoughts.

Crying out in pain, Eradní forced his will against it. He stared at his sword and concentrated all his anger into one needle of thought. Driving it towards the Azkrin's innermost mind, he expended all his energy on a final push, piercing through the barrier.

The iron grip of the Azkrin gave way. He lunged forwards and the blade of his sword buried itself in the Azkrin's chest. It gave a horrible scream, a wailing cry, malevolent and full of hatred. As it took its last breath, it slyly stabbed Eradní in the back. He gasped in shock and in agony, and then plunged his blade yet deeper into the creature's chest.

The Azkrin's dark cloak dissolved into the air. It momentarily revealed the writhing cadaver within, before it's entirety disappeared, leaving behind it the cloying stench of death.

"I curse you, Azkrin, Shrieking Death! I curse you, Zurin! May you suffer for eternity!" Eradní shouted with the last of his energy. He slumped to the ground with a groan. He had no will left; he could feel the life draining from his body.

So he lay there, reliving his memories, seeing each turning point in his life. He saw himself looking up at the white gates of Lithuas, his home city. His father, as an old man, giving him his sword. He remembered how proud he was to be one of the Five. He had not realised what it was really like – full of responsibility, pain and hardship.

Now he knew. He still would not have had it any other way. He had fought for what he believed in, and, despite the fact he himself had failed, he left some hope.

My son, may you become great. May you grow up to bear the weight of a nation on your shoulders, and bear it proudly. You are my hope. You are the only hope our people have. You are the last man.

He closed his eyes, satisfied. An age had just ended, and a new one begun. His time was up, but the fight was not over yet.

The sunrise shone its light upon the dead man.

A/N: Hello, this is my first time writing so I welcome any constructive criticism that you give me! I hope you liked this first chapter, my chapters will get longer and (hopefully!) better! Thanks for reading!