Knight of the dead code

[Nostalgiascape]

He knelt before the field. He was exhausted. All around lay the bodies of those whom he had slain in defiance. One man versus an army. But he would take many before he fell. This was how he would go out. His hand grasp his sword as light red pinkish blood seemed to melt into the darkest blood and run down his blade. Chunks of flesh adorned his once silver armor. He was a knight of the old code, but that code of chivalry had died completely. The new code stood against every one of his beliefs. Every thing he ever fought for was contradicted by this new code. It stood against good. Against helping the weak. It stood against compassion and love. It stood against freedom. He was the last to stand against this new code.

This new code seemed to endorse gluttony, lust, and cruelty. It seemed to feed into elitism. The new code was for those who would simply take what they wanted at the cost of others. A nation of takers. A nation of abusers. A nation of the sickening. And on that very field, he stood on one knee, one leg lame and bleeding into the grass. He looked down the field as he gazed upon a wall of warriors clad in black sharp edged armor. Men with exotic weapons and salivating mouths. These men knew their victory was at hand. One man need be slain and the new code would stand unopposed. One last man whose mission was simply and utterly futile. Still these men in black, cruel to the touch, seemed to have an awe inspired respect for the man whom they saw fight so valiantly. This man would die well they thought. He would die with honor, and then the winds of change would take course. No one believed in the old code anymore.

The battered and cleaved warrior in silver armor forced himself to his feet. He hobbled around on his lame leg, never allowing himself to fall despite the extreme pain he was in. He stepped around the bodies of the enemy to look onto the field. He raised his sword high into the air and screamed the word valor as hard as he could. His cry echoed into the distance. Then the man simply jogged limping down the hill. The wall of black armored warriors paid respect by screaming in return and running at full pace up the hill. It was a slaughter. The man of the old code would slay no more. He lay choking on the ground, his mouth full of his own blood. He gargled his last breath as he looked to the sky. In the sky he saw a lady of pure light. Her aura glowed such sheer energy; it could light up the darkest of nights. As the blood gush from his mouth and seep down into the soil beneath him, he smiled. He looked upon an angel. The angel had golden hair, and glowing blue eyes. She was the most beautiful being he had ever seen. This angel smiled the sweetest smile at him. She held out her hand to him.

"Come home." She said softly.

A second later, he lay dead.

And so began the time of the code of darkness. And it reigned for years.


(This is how I feel about things around me)

Walt