The battlefield had become a landscape of nightmares, the ground slick with the blood of countless soldiers, the bodies of the fallen stacked like broken dolls, their once-vibrant armor now rusted and stained. But in the center of it all stood the Black Order leader, a towering figure shrouded in darkness, his malevolent presence casting a shadow over the carnage. His black armor gleamed in the dim light, the sword in his hand pulsing with an eerie, otherworldly glow. His eyes, glowing through the slits of his helm, bored into Jay and Joan with the intensity of a predator ready to strike.
Jay's grip on his sword tightened, the weight of the weapon no longer a burden, but a reminder of the growing darkness inside him. He could feel his Arc blood thrumming through his veins, every instinct screaming for him to attack, to end this fight. But something held him back. This enemy—this knight—was different. He wasn't just a man; he was an embodiment of the very chaos and destruction Jay and Joan had been fighting against.
Joan's voice broke through his thoughts, low and urgent. "We have to end this now, or we'll all die here."
Jay nodded grimly, his eyes never leaving the Black Order leader. Together, they had faced impossible odds, but this—this was different. The Black Order knight wasn't just an enemy to be slain. He was a force of nature, a nightmare clad in iron.
The leader's lips twisted into a grin, a mocking gesture hidden behind his helmet. "You think you can stop me? You're nothing but children playing at war," his voice echoed, cold and devoid of emotion.
But Jay didn't hesitate. With a roar, he surged forward, his blade cutting the air with a deadly precision. Joan was right behind him, her sword a flash of silver as it cut toward the knight's exposed side. But he was faster—far faster than they anticipated.
With a savage swing of his enormous sword, the Black Order leader cleaved through the air with terrifying strength. Jay barely managed to parry the blow, the force of the strike vibrating through his entire body, rattling his bones and sending shockwaves of pain through him. He gritted his teeth, but before he could recover, the knight pressed the attack, his massive sword coming down in a second deadly arc.
Joan was there, just in time. She ducked low, the knight's blade narrowly missing her, but his counterattack was swift. She deflected it with a roll, kicking up mud and blood as she sprang to her feet and lunged again. The Black Order leader was relentless, his every move a calculated strike meant to break them.
Jay's vision blurred with rage. His sword rose, then fell, the Arc blood within him fueling his every movement, every strike. He was faster, stronger, but even that wasn't enough to keep pace with this dark knight.
Then, in a moment of desperate inspiration, Jay saw the opening—a tiny gap in the knight's otherwise impenetrable defense. The Black Order leader's massive sword was still raised, poised to deliver another crushing blow to Joan. Without thinking, Jay rushed forward, using every ounce of power in his body to close the gap.
The knight's eyes widened as Jay reached him, and in a single, brutal moment, Jay stabbed his sword into the knight's side, the tip of his blade sliding between the plates of armor. The knight's scream was barely audible over the battle's din, but it was enough to send a shiver down Jay's spine.
But the Black Order leader wasn't finished. With a roar of fury, he slammed his fist into Jay's chest, sending him flying backward into the mud. His breath was knocked out of him, his ribs aching from the brutal impact.
Joan screamed in fury, rushing forward with all her strength, her sword aimed straight at the knight's exposed throat. He twisted just in time to block, but Joan's strike was too precise, too fast. The blade slid across his neck, leaving a deep gash that immediately began to spill blood, dark and thick like ink.
The Black Order leader staggered backward, a look of disbelief in his glowing eyes. His armor was cracked, blood pouring from the wound at his neck. But still, he stood, refusing to fall. His sword swung wildly, cutting through the air in a desperate, final attempt to defend himself.
Jay's vision swam as he climbed to his feet, his heart racing in his chest. His limbs felt heavy, the weight of the battle bearing down on him. But there was no time to rest, no time to hesitate. He had to finish this, or they would both die here.
He surged forward once more, his movements fueled by a single thought: end it.
With a single, brutal lunge, Jay stabbed his sword into the Black Order leader's heart. The knight's armor crumpled beneath the force of the blow, the blade sinking deep into his chest. Blood exploded from the wound, spraying out in a fountain of gore, drenching Jay and Joan in the dark, sticky liquid.
The Black Order leader's body trembled as the life drained from him. His mouth opened in a soundless scream, the helmet's darkened visor beginning to crack under the sheer force of his own rage. His sword fell from his hand, clattering to the ground beside him. His knees buckled, and with a final, defiant roar, he crumpled to the ground, the light in his eyes flickering and dying like the last embers of a fading fire.
Jay stood over him, his sword buried deep in the man's chest, his breath ragged as he watched the life fade from the Black Order leader's eyes. His heart thundered in his chest, but there was no joy in the victory—only the crushing weight of the death surrounding them. They had won, but at what cost?
Joan stood beside him, bloodied and bruised, her face a mask of determination and exhaustion. She didn't speak, but her eyes met his, and for a moment, there was a silent understanding between them. They had fought together, bled together, and now, the battle was over.
But it wasn't won. Not entirely.
The sound of hooves echoed in the distance, the cavalry returning. Jay looked to the horizon, where the French soldiers were regrouping, some staggering under the weight of their own losses, others shouting orders, trying to rally what little strength they had left. They were victorious, but the war was far from over.
"Come on," Joan said, her voice low, tired. "We need to retreat. This is only the beginning."
Jay didn't argue. He looked one last time at the Black Order leader's lifeless body, his own heart heavy with the weight of everything they had just endured. There was no time for victory dances, no time for celebration. Only survival.
Together, they turned and moved toward the French lines, their bodies covered in dirt, blood, and the grime of war. Behind them, the battlefield remained a testament to the horrors of the war. The cries of the fallen still echoed in the air, but now, there was nothing but silence.
The silence on the battlefield was deafening after the Black Order leader fell. His body lay among the carnage, a grotesque testament to the fury of war. The echo of the final clash hung in the air, the ringing of Jay's sword still vibrating in his mind. Blood, dark and thick, pooled around him, staining the earth. The stench of death and decay clung to everything, choking the air with its bitter fragrance.
Jay's eyes remained fixed on the fallen knight, watching as the last remnants of life slipped away from the man who had once been so powerful. The gory sight of his mangled form, the blood seeping into the dirt, filled Jay with a grim satisfaction—yet it was hollow. He couldn't help but feel the weight of every life lost here today, his own allies among them.
Joan stood beside him, her armor dulled with the dirt and blood of battle, her face streaked with the same grime. She looked like a warrior forged from the very battlefield itself, hardened by the fires of war. Her eyes, however, betrayed a weariness far beyond her years. The loss of life, the friends and soldiers they had fought beside, weighed heavily on her shoulders, just as it did on his.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The battlefield around them was a grisly scene—soldiers crawling through the mud, clutching at gaping wounds, others lying still, their bodies mangled beyond recognition. The cries of the wounded filled the air, but the French soldiers were slowly retreating, trying to regroup and reorganize, knowing this victory came at an unthinkable cost.
Jay felt his heart harden. Their mission was far from over. This was merely one battle in a war that seemed endless, a war that left nothing but broken bodies in its wake. The Black Order leader had fallen, but the Order itself remained—an ominous force that would stop at nothing to claim victory. They had just killed one piece of the puzzle, but there were many more pieces left to destroy.
"We need to regroup," Joan said, her voice low, as if the weight of the moment pressed down on her chest. "We can't stay here. There's too much to do."
Jay nodded, his mind still reeling. He could feel his Arc blood thrumming beneath his skin, a constant reminder of the power he had unleashed today. It had only been a taste of what he was capable of—what he would become—but the cost of that power was steep. The lives lost, the suffering he had witnessed, the horrors of war—these things would never leave him. They were carved into his soul, and with each death, he felt himself becoming something darker, something more detached from the man he had been before.
They moved quickly, their feet slapping against the wet earth as they made their way toward the French ranks. The air was thick with smoke, the scent of fire and iron mixing with the musk of the dead. Soldiers stumbled past them, their faces pale with fear or exhaustion, some dragging injured comrades, others carrying weapons too heavy for their weakened limbs.
Joan didn't stop, didn't falter. She led the way, her movements sharp and purposeful, though even she couldn't hide the deep exhaustion that pulled at her every step. Jay followed her, his mind consumed by thoughts of the battle, of the destruction they had just witnessed, of the men and women who had given their lives for a cause that now seemed so futile.
They reached the French commander's position—a small, makeshift camp surrounded by a handful of soldiers, their faces as grim as the battlefield itself. The commander, a stout man with a thick beard and tired eyes, looked up when he saw Joan and Jay approach.
"Joan," he said, his voice a mixture of relief and sorrow. "You've returned... but where is the rest of the force? What of the Black Order?"
Joan's face was unreadable. "We've won the battle, but at great cost. The Black Order's leader is dead, but the war isn't over. They'll regroup, and we'll be ready for them when they do."
The commander's eyes flicked to Jay, recognizing the bloody warrior beside Joan. He nodded grimly. "I see... and you?"
Jay didn't answer right away. Instead, he turned his gaze toward the remnants of the battlefield, the faint sounds of the wounded and dying still drifting toward them. His grip tightened on his sword, its blade coated in the blood of both friend and foe.
"I'm alive," Jay finally said, his voice hoarse. "But I'm not sure if that's enough."
Joan placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch firm, but gentle. "It's enough for now. That's all we can give. The rest... will come in time."
The commander gave a curt nod, then turned his attention back to the soldiers around him. "We need to fall back. There's no point in staying here any longer. The Order will regroup soon, and we need to be ready for them."
Jay watched the soldiers move, gathering their wounded, collecting what weapons they could salvage. His mind kept returning to the battlefield, to the bodies strewn across the ground, to the blood that had stained the earth. He knew what came next—more fighting, more death. It would never end.
As they moved to the rear of the French lines, the weight of the victory seemed to sink in. They had won, but at what cost? The Black Order leader was dead, but the Order itself was still out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for its next strike.
They were just two warriors in a sea of blood. But as long as they still had breath in their bodies, as long as they still had the will to fight, they would stand. Together.
They would continue this battle.