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“Is that all you got?” Wigmar asked as he came into a resting guard, “I shall become far stronger than you are Lucian. Whatever kind of creature you are to still be standing after a blow like that!”
Lucian did not answer the cultist, he simply ran forward at the man with a swipe from his one-handed scythe. The blow easily being parried as a sickle was not a great weapon for warfare. Yet Lucian persisted as he threw one attack after another with his weapon.
Wigmar had to push Lucian back, bashing his weapon into the Knight as the onslaught was suddenly too dangerous to deal with. He was still smirking, not a single bit of blood rolling off of his face as he prepared for a strike.
Suddenly, the pain in Lucian’s shoulder screaming at him in doing so, the Black Knight threw the wooden stick that was once the bottom of his scythe at the Imperial. A move the man did not see coming as the wooden instrument slammed into his face with enough force that his broken upon impact.
Lucian did not wait until the blow landed, riding up in the shadow of the stick with a sickle blow aimed for the neck. Wigmar saw it, even when dazed, and raised his weapon high for a parry that would connect with a blade that had been sent flying into it from out of Lucian’s hands. His eyes widened as Lucian gave the man a tackle with such strength that he was sent sprawling upon the ground with an impact.
That was not Lucian’s aim, the Knight gripping the right arm of the man. Sense came into Wigmar and he brought his left to try and pry Lucian off. To remove him so that the extended hand that was above both of their heads could come down and dig that sword into Lucian’s gut.
The struggle was momentous, but it was decided as the Rune that was embedded into the armor of the Black Knight glowed with an angry red hue. As if the Dwarfen God knew that this was the moment, Lucian felt the strength of the greatest Slayer yet to flow within his limbs.
And the strength of Dwarfs was always greater than the strength of men.
A bang that was as loud as cannon roared through the room. The sword neatly flying into the air as Lucian dislocated the shoulder, arm, and hands of Wigmar with as much force as he could muster. Quickly seeing his chance Lucian threw himself at the blade, quickly becoming the custodian of the weapon in a neat roll that landed him upon his feet.
He turned to see Wigmar, the man still moving despite all the pain he was going through. A weapon, a firearm, pointed at Lucian at that moment. The Knight heard a crackle of gunfire as the bullet quickly came towards his eyes.
Yet, as the bullet trailed, a soft golden wind caused it to drift to the side. The piece of lead slamming into the wall next to Lucian’s head.
Lucian did not hesitate as he threw himself upon Wigmar, stabbing his neck with the cursed blade. He ignored the off sensation as the weapon played with the soul of the man who it once called Master.
