Andrew had lost all hope. His strength had diminished. He was merely a toy for the beast while he dodged blow after blow. He had been on the ground most of the time rolling away from the mighty sword. He had thought that Patrick and Craig had been ambushed delaying the task at hand but he feared the worst now since nothing has changed. At least the pain he had from the stab wound in his chest had subsided and he knew it had to do with the magical healing force of the Vikings. Even that would not do him any good since his brother and father were dead. He would become weaker until the beast slews him, eventually. The battle axe in his hands felt like lead.
Andrew saw the sword coming down, and he blocked it. Sparks flew again into the dark night. The impact was too much for his weary body to withstand. His legs buckled to the impact, and he felt himself falling again. Soon he would not have the strength left to stand up anymore never mind blocking. The sword came down again. He held the battle axe stretched out over his face and chest with both hands. He felt the shock running through his arms as the sword connected with the axe. It jolted through his heart and stomach. The beast's eyes were glowing even brighter in its dark face. The beast lifted up his boot and brought it down on Andrew's ankle. Andrew felt a pain he had never felt before. It was blinding for a moment as he screamed in agony. He had heard a clacking sound when the boot came down crushing his ankle. He knew it was over. He had lost the fight. What did he think in the first place? Was he the one to stop the evil of the world? He sure tried his best. He had given it everything, but everything in life had a beginning and an end. His life was over and soon the beast would finish him off. The pain was too much, clouding his mind and judgment. He was almost paralyzed, confused and exhausted. He was not sure if the magical healing force would apply to broken bones.
The beast laughed and displayed a heroic act with his sword held above his head. It paused, looked down and prepared for the last strike.
Andrew knew it was his last moment. He would not be able to protect himself any longer, especially not from a thrusting blade coming down towards his chest. He tried to hold the axe again in both hands but his left hand slipped. He was just in time to divert the sword from penetrating his heart. The sword came down again, this time thrusting through the middle of Andrew's left hand. He was almost too tired to scream, but he managed a defeated cry. He knew he had lost the use of his left hand. The bones must be cracked and broken.