The Immortal King vs. the Thane of Fife

"Gwaaurrgghhhh!!"

The tip of my blade flashed across the Englishman's throat, shattering through his chainmail and slicing his jugular.

"Gurgagurg…."

The Englishman's tears mixed with the torrent of blood, and he fell to the ground, twitching and gasping. Soon after, he stopped breathing, but his flesh still spasmed.

I stumbled away from this dead body and waded through the battlefield. The battlefield… could someone call this a land? Dusinane Castle's fields were nothing but a sea of blood and a mountain of corpses. The cries of battle were this seas roaring waves. Heaven's angels may cry, but their tears would never wash away the mortal ichor. Not even the grand ocean could dilute this crimson deluge.

My boots stuck to the sticky ground as I waded through this sea of red. As I walked, English spear bearers stepped in front of me. They aimed the points of their spears at my chest and screamed out.

"There he is! The Demon in White!"

"Kill him!!"

"For honor!"

They charged forward, hoping to skewer me.

"Why…."

I swung my sword, knocking one spear away. I thrust my blade through one man's chest as I stepped into his guard. His comrade swung at me, but I raised my left forearm to block the strike. The hard edge connected but didn't draw blood. Still, I felt the hard impact.

"Why…."

"Die, you monster!!"

The other man swung his spear vertically. My instincts kicked in: I pulled Unbreakable Faith out of their dying comrade, grabbed the end of my blade, and used the "sword cross." I deflected the attack and quickly stabbed the man in the abdomen. He buckled and fell onto the ground.

"Demon!!"

The last man left grew desperate and threw his spear. Gathering my stamina, I dodged while simultaneously deflecting the projectile.

"N-no…."

Like an arrow, I charged forward and slashed the man's chest. I moved with such force that I shot past him.

"Why…."

I looked back and saw the man fall onto his knees, clutching his bleeding chest. He fell face-first into the blood-soddened ground.

"Why… why do we have to do this?"

My horrified voice was barely a whisper; it was a dry croak. I spent myself to the point of exhaustion, and my esophagus felt barren as a desert.

"The King… where is the King?"

(W-we have to stop…. We have to stop this bloodshed….)

I trudged into this seemingly endless battlefield. The corpses of men lay lifeless, slashed, burned, and battered.

Wide, soulless eyes stared into mine, judging me. The jaws of countless men, English and Scottish, were gaping open – their mouths were frozen in their last screaming moments. The men were gutted like fishes, and their gleaming viscera spilled out. Black crows swarmed and pecked their corpses. These were the horrid sights I saw.

"Gah!"

My foot stumbled against a stretched-out forearm, and I almost tripped and fell. I believed it was another corpse, but just as I was about to walk away, I heard desperate pleas.

"H-help m-me…."

I turned back. It was an Englishman, barely holding onto life. His chest was peppered with arrows, and his legs were broken from the stampeding of other soldiers. Other bodies of the dead piled onto him. Blood leaked from his broken nose, congesting his speech.

"P-please…."

I walked to him.

"I-I don't know."

Was there a healer? Someone to help?

(Why am I helping the enemy?)

I didn't know why, but I knew this: I was human. I was a man born from God, capable of malice and kindness. I made my decision. I bent down-

"P-please…."

-and moved the dead bodies off the man. He was relieved from the pressure but not from his wounds. I saw the depth of his injuries, and I knew I couldn't save them.

-!Squelch!-

I heard footsteps. I turned in one direction and saw a young man approaching.

"S-stop!"

He didn't. He calmly held onto his sword and approached. I backed away from fear. This mysterious figure reached the dying man, and brought their blade to the crippled man's neck.

The laying man closed his eyes as if making a decision. When he opened them, he said "yes" and nodded as much as possible. This unknown figure raised their sword, and as they did-

"T-thank you."

-the injured man thanked him.

-!Shing!-

Dead. Dead, just like that. He was alive moments ago, but now….

"My name is Shinei Nouzen. You?"

"My name is…. Ethan."

"What do they call you?"

"Wha?"

"Your battle name."

I paused.

"The Demon in White."

"They call me Undertaker."

"Are you English or Scottish?"

"It doesn't matter. No matter what, the battlefield is my home."

"D-do you know where King Macbeth is?"

"This is only a guess, but I assume he scaled that hill."

"T-thank you."

"Are you going to defend him? Or kill him?"

"W-what? Why do you ask?"

"The truth will come out eventually."

With a foreboding warning, the Undertaker left. I was all alone.

"Your majesty, we must stop this."

***

I scaled the hill and saw dead bodies leave a trail that led farther up. I finished this climb and saw His Majesty; he sprinted forward with a lion's vigor and slaughtered the opposing men. As if blessed, no blade struck his skin, and if it did, it left no mark.

Soon, he faced his final opponent: MacDuff.

"Why should I play the Roman fool and die on mine own sword? I see lives and the gashes look better upon them."

Macduff emerged, and with visceral rage, shouted at King Macbeth.

"Turn, hell-hound, turn!"

"Of all the men, I have avoided you: But get back; my soul is too much stained with the blood of your family already."

"I've nothing to say. My sword is my tongue. You bloodier devil than words can describe!"

"You're wasting your time. It'll be easier to dent the air with your sharp sword than draw my blood. Save your sword for vulnerable chests. My life is charmed. I can't be killed by anyone who wasn't born of a woman." King Macbeth said with confidence.

"Forget your charm. Tell the evil spirit who told you that this: Macduff was pulled prematurely from his mother's womb."

"Curse the tongue that tells me that because it strikes fear into my heart. And curse these cheating fiends who keep their promises in small things and deny us our greatest hopes. I won't fight with you. "

"Then give yourself up, coward, and live – to be a public spectacle. We'll advertise you, as we do with our more unusual freaks, with a sign hung from a pole: 'Here you can see they tyrant," Macduff spat.

"'I won't give up to kiss the ground beneath young Malcolm's feet and then be jeered at by the common rabble. Even though Birnam Wood has come to Dunsinane and I'm facing a man not born of woman, I'll fight to the bitter end. Come on, Macduff. And damned be the one who first cries, 'stop – no more!"

Like two giants, they charged towards each other, slicing through the air itself with their swords. The world itself cried from these swings, and thunderous sounds emerged when their blades struck. I watched a blessed King fight the loophole in his enchantment and slowly tired from this engagement. As time pressed on, Lord Macduff gained the advantage – he pushed His Majesty down the hill and achieved the high ground.

I wordlessly watched this spectacle until I saw something in the corner of my eye. A Scottish soldier aimed a javelin at Lord Macduff's throat. The world became blurry once more.

"Protect the Thane of Fife…."

("Are you going to defend him? Or kill him?")

The man threw his projectile.

"NO!"

I shot forward and sliced downwards. Perhaps my eyes played tricks on my mind, but I believe a sheet of flames encompassed my weapon. The javelin was cut in midair and fell short of its target. I turned towards the Scottish man, charged forward, and bashed him with my sword's pommel. I followed with a hard kick, and the man fell down the hill.

I turned back to Macduff and Macbeth and-

"My god."

-found the latter with their head laying meters away from their body.

"The tyrant is no more!"

The Thane of Fife grabbed Macbeth's head and held it up, shouting proudly. That is how this war ended.