The Great Saga

The day was harsh, bitterly cold, and the wind howled as if stripping the earth of all life. Above the battlefield, ravens circled, their sharp cries piercing the air as they landed on the fallen, feasting as if celebrating their bloody banquet. Torn bodies lay scattered everywhere, drowning in pools of blood mixed with mud, creating a viscous ground that reeked of death.

Amidst this hell, among the ruins and destruction, one knight had somehow survived. He knelt among the corpses, covered in blood, his breaths heavy, his heart pounding against his chest like the drums of a final war. Slowly, he lifted his head, his eyes scanning what remained of the battlefield. But he was not alone…

A few steps away, monsters gathered. Some had the form of knights, their eyes devoid of life, their armor twisted and deformed, as if mere puppets possessed by the spirit of darkness. Others were pure beasts, with venom-dripping fangs and claws sharp enough to rend iron before flesh. There was the giant, towering like a dark mountain, and the small ones, slithering like serpents in search of prey.

The knight closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering the last remnants of his scattered strength. Then, leaning on his sword, he drove it into the ground and forced his exhausted body to rise. This might be the last time he stood, but he would not fall to his knees. He would not be defeated while he still had the strength to fight.

He raised his sword, eyes fixed on the beasts closing in. Death was near