The battle was raging all around me. Swords flashed in response to my own slashs. I was trying to make my way to my companion. Every time I seemed to be hacking my way through the forest of bodies, he seemed to be dragged further from my reach. I swing my sword more and more desparately as I see him start to buckle. The blade that I had seen in my nightmares for years thrust forward, through his heart. A call from a trumpet and the enemy retreated, leaving me empty. All I could do was stare at the vacant eyes of the one who knew me more than any other. A slight trickle of blood traced a path from the corner of his mouth. I fell to my knees, and fell onto his body. The emptyness I felt replaced with complete and utter despair and longing for someone who will never come back. Soon the men come to take away the dead bodies and they forcedly remove me from his body. It would have lost it's heat long ago, but I enthused it with my own heat, in some childish ideal that if I got him warm enough he would breathe once more. His head lolling back as they drag him away removes that childish fantasy and I cry anew. Emptyness is my heart's new companion as it has lost it's lust of life. A peal of thunder and a face wake me at the night's darkest hour. The face, not of the one lost, but of the taker of his life. My sword buckled to my side, I leave my room and melt into the undergrowth. Some unknown force directs me to his killer. That force controls me, compels me. That is the force that drives my legs towards my target. Nothing can stand in my way, if it does, it soon yields under my blade. Parting the branches in front of me, I see a camp fire. The soft yellow glow outlines a row of tents. I know which one he's in. I can feel my hate pulling me towards it. 'Wait' I tell myself. 'The time isn't right.' 'Any time is the time for revenge,' the voice in my head screams. I feel my legs lift me up and pull me along. I try to pull myself back under-cover before I'm spotted but it's too late, I have no control over my actions. Now I am a mere spectator to the end of my life. The sentry sees the fire reflect on the naked blade in my hand, half a shout leaves his throat, before his head leaves it also. The camp erupted into action as men poured from tents with blades. I don't see any of them, my eyes are set on the tent that I know he will leave any second. Finally he leaves, and I feel the need to heft my blade. Now with intent, my sword begins to swing, felling men like trees. I begin to knock blades away and maim or kill all of those around me, without looking, without caring. All that I care about is my slow steps towards his murderer, and his subsequential death. My face is stretched back in a obscene parody of a smile. It isn't a smile, it's a death-mask. My feet pull me slowly towards him, it's no longer is a matter of skill, but of time. A dozen wounds bleed and cover my clothes with crimson pain, but I ignore them. I merely concentrate on moving towards my destiny. His eyes are wide with fear as he realises that I have come for him. His face hardens into determination as he swings his blades to stop the chaos caused by me. I laugh. We both know the outcome of this confrontation. His face is set in acceptance, yet he still fights for his life. Respect for him is a mere flash before my hatred. I knock his blade clean out of his hand, before sheathing my sword in his chest. Removing the blade again, I bring it to my own throat. I have finished what I came for, and now I have no further use in this world. I have no longer a reason to live. I end my life right there. I used all my strength to swing the sword. So much so that the sword continued on, to bury itself haft deep in a tree. Years pass by, and the clearing is still known as Retribution Hill. None set foot there if they can avoid it and all know the story of one mans loss and retribution. The sword is still lodged in the tree to this day. Unremovable by any hand. Proof, if need be, that, although revenge may be sweet, it can't remove the problem, or even help it.
