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As he rolled away the boy picked back up his shovel and started swinging it wildly. He managed to parry the six or seven swipes of the Deathknights daiklave with the edge of his spade, but it was obvious that the crude tool would not be able to withstand such abuse for long. So if he’s going to lose it anyway he might as well make use of it. After the last block he raised the shaft with both hands on it and began to bend it. The wooden rod crackled and exploded in a hundred splinters, all flying at the Deathknights eyes. Still the pale man was smart enough to shut them before they’d get riddled with wooden bits. But that only left a massive opening for the boy to exploit. He quickly took a dive and on the way there he rammed the head of the shovel into the Deathknights codpiece. After hearing the pained shriek of the ebon clad warrior he rolled around him and attempted to thrust the other half of the shove up his arse. Naturally this did little but it did lift the Abyssal off the ground for a moment.
Disoriented and in quite a bit of discomfort the knight swung his sword around wildly to catch his enemy with a stray attack in his frustration, but it was futile. The boys movements were fast and he stuck well to the shadows. After he managed to rub his eyes free of the debris and he managed to stand firmly once more he looked at his enemy with bloodshot eyes.
“I’ll flay you alive and feed you your skin for that you bastard!”
“Sorry mate, I just thought you looked like the kind of cunt who’d enjoy a nice hard shaft up his bum. No hard feelings, yeah?”
That was the last straw. The Abyssal would not be humiliated by a common farmer. He was an emissary of the Underworld, the knight of a Deathlord. He would either subdue this brat and take him to the Mask of Winters to be subjugated to nightmares incomprehensible for mortal men, or he’d murder him himself. He gritted his teeth and raised his sword in front of him. Right after that a wound tore itself open on his forehead in the shape of a sunburst. Thick, ichor-like blood started seeping from it as a darkness blacker than the night erupted from him. It burned around him like a bonfire and it seemed to devour the color from the world. The grass, the dirt, even the air around him took on a sickly, gray color as all the life in it was consumed by the roaring aura around him. This ethereal “flame” extended to his sword as well and the faces one could occasionally glimpse in it became fully perceptible, as if dozens of ghosts were banging on it from the inside to escape.
