The clash of steel echoed through the rain-soaked battlefield, filling the air with an almost suffocating weight. The scent of blood and wet earth mixed together, rising from the churned mud beneath the feet of soldiers. Jay's chest heaved with every breath, his sword slick with the blood of the fallen. His grip was firm, but his arms burned with the weight of the battle.
He had fought hard. He had fought with everything he had, but it still didn't feel like enough. The English soldiers were relentless, their strength and ferocity unyielding, and for every man they cut down, another seemed to appear. But they were weakening, their numbers thinning. The battle was far from over, and yet the signs of victory were beginning to show.
Beside him, Joan continued to strike with deadly precision, her sword a blur of silver in the dim light. Her movements were fluid, as if the chaos of battle had become a part of her — a part of her soul. She was everywhere, cutting through the enemy with ease, her focus unwavering.
Jay's mind kept drifting to the faces of the men he had slain. The weight of it was pressing down on him, heavier than any armor. He had never taken a life before. Each death felt like a personal wound, even as the blood of his enemies stained the earth beneath him.
"Stay focused, Jay!" Joan's voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and commanding. She had already cut down three soldiers in the time it took him to process the gravity of the battlefield. Her eyes locked with his for a moment, her expression unreadable, but there was something there — something that made him feel like he was not as alone as he thought.
He nodded, forcing himself to push aside the weight of the deaths he'd caused. This was war. And in war, there were no simple answers. Survival was everything.
He gripped his sword tighter and advanced, moving alongside Joan as the French forces began to gain the upper hand. The English knights were retreating, their ranks scattering like leaves in the wind. Jay's heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline surging through him as the taste of victory was almost within reach.
But then, the air shifted.
A horn sounded in the distance. It was a chilling, low blast — one that sent a ripple of unease through the soldiers around him. Jay turned to Joan, confusion written across his face.
"What is that?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of battle.
Joan's face hardened, her eyes narrowing. "A reinforcements call."
The realization hit Jay like a cold wave. The English forces had called for backup. They weren't finished yet.
Before he could react, a heavy thud shook the ground beneath them. From the misty horizon, a new wave of soldiers appeared. Not ordinary soldiers, but knights clad in black armor, their swords raised high. The ground trembled as they charged forward, their formation as solid as a wall of iron.
Jay's stomach twisted. These weren't the regular English forces he had fought against. These were veterans, battle-hardened and ready for blood. They were here to end this fight. And they would not go down easily.
"Hold the line!" Joan shouted, her voice like a crack of thunder, rallying the soldiers around her. She stepped forward, her sword drawn and ready, her eyes fierce with the fire of someone who had faced death too many times to count.
Jay followed her, his sword still slick with the blood of the fallen. But this time, the fear was different. It wasn't just fear of dying, but of failing. He couldn't afford to let her down, not now.
The knights in black charged, their swords flashing in the dim light. Jay felt the air crackle with the energy of the fight, the ground beneath his feet shaking with the impact of each strike. The first knight came at him with a roar, his sword descending like a hammer. Jay barely managed to dodge, the blow missing by mere inches.
He swung his own sword in retaliation, but the knight parried with ease, his armored frame barely budging. Jay's heart raced as the knight pressed forward, the weight of his armor making every strike feel like an insurmountable wall.
Joan was already engaged with several of them, her movements fluid and precise. She was a whirlwind of death, her sword cutting through the black-clad knights with the same grace she had displayed earlier. But even she was struggling. For every knight she felled, two more took their place.
Jay's sword clashed against his opponent's again, but this time, he saw something in the knight's eyes — something that made him hesitate. The knight wasn't just a faceless enemy. He was a man. Just like Jay.
But that thought was short-lived. The knight's sword came down again, and Jay barely blocked it, the force of the blow sending him stumbling back. His feet slipped in the mud, and for a moment, he was on the ground, his sword inches away from his outstretched hand.
His heart pounded as he scrambled to grab the sword, but before he could, the knight lunged. Jay closed his eyes, bracing for the strike.
But it never came.
A blur of movement, a flash of steel, and the knight was suddenly pushed back, his sword flying from his grasp. Joan stood before him, her sword dripping with blood, her eyes blazing with a fire Jay had never seen before.
"You're not finished yet," she said, her voice low but filled with conviction. "Get up."
Jay's hand shot out, grabbing his sword, and with a quick roll to his feet, he joined the fight once more. This time, there was no hesitation. There was no fear. There was only the fight. Only the need to survive.
Together, they pushed back the knights in black, the battle slowly shifting in their favor once more. But Jay could feel the toll it was taking. His muscles screamed in protest, his body growing heavier with each strike.
And still, the fight raged on.
The clash of weapons, the screams of the wounded, and the roar of the rain became a blur in Jay's mind. Each strike, each movement, felt as though it was happening in slow motion, yet too fast for him to process. The battlefield had become a place of madness, where time itself seemed to bend under the weight of violence.
Joan fought with the grace of a seasoned warrior, her movements fluid and controlled, a contrast to the chaos surrounding them. Jay could feel her presence, a steady anchor amidst the storm of battle, but even she was starting to show signs of wear. Her armor was dented, her face streaked with blood, but her spirit remained unbroken.
Jay's own strength was beginning to wane. His legs ached, and his arms felt as though they were made of lead. Every time he swung his sword, his body screamed in protest. Yet, he pushed forward, driven by something more than the need to survive. The battle wasn't just about winning anymore. It was about proving that he could stand with these warriors — that he could stand by Joan, despite everything.
The ground beneath them churned with the fury of the fight. The rain was relentless, the sky a dark, oppressive blanket that seemed to press down on everything. The sound of hooves pounding the earth grew louder as reinforcements arrived. A fresh wave of English knights, their armor gleaming despite the darkness, charged forward with renewed ferocity.
Jay's heart skipped a beat. This wasn't just a battle. It was an endless cycle of death and survival. And the end of this war — of this madness — seemed nowhere in sight.
"We need to end this now!" Joan's voice broke through his thoughts, sharp and commanding as ever. She met his eyes, her expression a mask of grim determination. "If we don't, we won't survive the night."
Jay swallowed hard. She was right. The English were regrouping, and their knights, relentless and skilled, were starting to outnumber them. Joan and her soldiers had already pushed themselves beyond their limits. They needed to break through the enemy's defenses, and fast.
The sound of hooves drew closer, but this time, it wasn't a group of soldiers charging. It was something far worse.
From the shadows of the distant trees, a large group of mounted knights emerged, their black armor marked with red, their cloaks fluttering in the wind. They were the elite — the feared Black Order, the knights who had been whispered about in the war camps as merciless and unmatched. Their leader, a hulking figure with a black helm adorned with crimson runes, sat atop a massive warhorse. His presence alone seemed to cast a shadow over the battlefield.
"Fall back!" Joan shouted, her voice cracking with urgency. But it was too late. The Black Order had already closed the gap.
Jay's blood ran cold as the knights charged forward, their weapons raised high, ready to strike. These were no ordinary soldiers. Each of them was a force unto themselves, trained in the deadliest arts of war.
With a battle cry, Joan surged forward to meet them. She moved like a blur, a whirlwind of steel and fury, cutting down anyone who dared approach her. Jay hesitated for only a moment before following her, his heart pounding in his chest. He had no choice. He couldn't let her face them alone.
The first Black Order knight came at him with a brutal overhead strike. Jay barely managed to dodge, feeling the air part as the sword whistled past him. He swung his own sword in response, but the knight's armor was too thick, his strikes too powerful. With a roar, the knight launched another strike, forcing Jay to step back.
"Stay focused!" Joan's voice rang out, her words a lifeline as she cleaved through another knight. "Do not falter now!"
Jay gritted his teeth and pressed forward, swinging his sword with renewed strength. But the Black Order knights were not easily defeated. Their leader, the towering figure at the front, watched the battle unfold with cold, calculating eyes, his gaze fixed on Joan. The way he moved, so effortlessly and with such precision, sent a chill down Jay's spine. This was no ordinary knight.
The leader of the Black Order was coming for Joan.
Jay's heart skipped a beat. He had to stop him.
"Joan!" Jay shouted, his voice carrying over the roar of battle. "He's coming for you!"
She didn't need him to warn her. With a single, powerful movement, Joan turned to face the Black Order's leader, her sword raised high. She was a force of nature, but even she could not escape the weight of fate. The two warriors locked eyes as they prepared for their final clash.
Jay's body screamed at him to fight, but his instincts were shouting louder. He couldn't let this happen. Not while he was still standing.
Without thinking, Jay charged forward, his sword raised high. The Black Order knight's eyes shifted toward him for just a moment, and that was all the opening he needed.
He slammed into the knight with all his strength, knocking him off balance. But the knight's massive form remained a wall of iron. He spun around, his sword slashing toward Jay's neck.
Time seemed to slow. Jay could see the blade coming, feel the wind as it sliced through the air toward him. He braced for impact, but then, at the last moment, a flash of silver intervened. Joan's sword met the Black Order knight's in a resounding clash.
The sound was deafening.
With a roar, Joan pressed forward, forcing the knight back. She was relentless, her movements faster than Jay could follow. The two of them danced in the mud, the ground slick with blood and rain, their swords flashing in the dim light. But the Black Order knight was beginning to falter.
Jay could see it — the fear, the hesitation. Joan was wearing him down.
With one final, devastating strike, Joan pierced the knight's chest, her sword slicing through the armor like it was nothing. The Black Order knight fell to the ground with a heavy thud, his helmet rolling away in the muck.
The battle was far from over, but for the first time in hours, Jay felt a glimmer of hope.
"We're not done yet," Joan said, her voice low and filled with determination. "But we've made them bleed."
Jay nodded, his chest heaving with exhaustion, but his resolve was stronger than ever. There was no turning back now. He would fight. He would survive. And together, they would end this war.