The Last Stand of the Bloodied Warrior

The Last Stand of the Bloodied Warrior

The air was thick with smoke and ash, a choking haze that stung her lungs as she sprinted through the shattered remains of the fortress. The ground quaked beneath her feet, each tremor matched by the deafening roar of the dragon looming above the blackened spires. Its molten eyes glared at her, embers spilling from its jaws as lightning split the sky behind it, casting jagged shadows over the battlefield.

Her clothes clung to her body, soaked with blood and sweat. Not all of it was her own. The axes in her hands—once gleaming pink, now smeared with gore—felt heavier with each passing second. But she would not stop. Not now. Not when everything depended on her.

This was not just a fight for her life; it was the fight for all life within these walls. The creature’s wings spread wide, a wall of scale and bone that blotted out the heavens. The once proud castle was now a ruin, its towers cracked and burning, its walls reduced to rubble by the relentless assault of claws and fire. Yet through it all, she ran—not away, but toward the beast.

Her mind burned with the memory of her fallen comrades. Dozens of them had charged alongside her at dawn, their weapons raised and their hearts full of courage. One by one they had been swept aside by the dragon’s fury, their screams drowned in the thunder of its wings. She alone remained, her body battered and torn but her spirit unbroken.

As she sprinted forward, debris rained around her—stones the size of carts, splintered wood, shattered banners flapping weakly in the hot wind. Her boots skidded across cracked stone, sending plumes of dust into the air. The dragon’s roar shook the ground again, its breath a storm of heat and brimstone that blackened everything it touched.

But she had learned to dodge its fury, to read the flex of its muscles, the subtle shift in its wings that warned of the next strike. She ducked beneath a falling archway, narrowly avoiding the crush of stone, and rolled back to her feet, her axes gleaming faintly through the dust.

The creature lowered its head, leveling its burning gaze on her. The corners of its mouth curled into something that looked almost like a grin, as though it recognized her persistence and found it amusing. But she didn’t flinch. Not anymore.

Her breath came in ragged gasps as she neared the base of the ruined keep. The dragon’s tail lashed, smashing through what remained of the eastern tower, sending a shower of masonry cascading into the moat. Yet she kept running, the axes tight in her fists, their blades painted crimson with her enemies.

She remembered her mother’s words on the eve of her first battle: “You will not win every fight. But if you fight with everything you have, even the gods will take notice.”

And so she would give them something to notice.

She surged up the last incline, her boots splashing through puddles of rain and blood. The dragon’s head darted down like a striking viper, jaws wide and fangs gleaming. She threw herself to the side, felt the rush of wind and heat as its teeth closed on empty air. Without hesitation, she scrambled up a mound of rubble and leapt—straight at the beast’s face.

Her axes bit deep into the dragon’s scales as she clung to its snout, one knee pressing into the ridge of its nose. It shrieked in pain, shaking its massive head violently to dislodge her, but she held fast, her teeth gritted against the force.

With a roar of her own, she swung her left axe upward, driving it into the soft flesh beneath its eye. The dragon reared back, its wings beating the air in fury, but she didn’t let go. Instead, she used the momentum to climb higher, her bloodied hands finding purchase along the ridges of its skull.

For a moment she stood atop the beast’s head, the storm raging around her, lightning flashing against the dark clouds. Below her, the world was chaos—flames devouring the last remnants of the castle, soldiers fleeing in terror, the earth itself cracking under the weight of the battle.

She raised both axes high, the pink of their blades gleaming brightly against the darkness, and brought them down with every ounce of strength she had left.

The dragon screamed, its roar splitting the sky as the axes sank to their hafts. The creature bucked and twisted, its wings flailing wildly, but she clung to it still, hacking at its scales, driving her weapons deeper with each strike.

Time seemed to stop.

She could feel its heart thundering beneath her feet, a furious, primal rhythm that matched her own. The world faded around her until there was only the beast, the storm, and the fire in her chest that refused to die.

Then, with one final, defiant cry, she tore the axes free and plunged them down into the base of its skull.

The dragon’s body convulsed, its wings freezing mid-flap. A strangled roar escaped its throat before it began to topple, its massive frame crashing into the remains of the keep and sending a shockwave through the earth.

She rode it down, landing hard on her knees as the beast came to rest in a cloud of dust and debris. For a moment, there was only silence.

Then she stood, bloodied and breathless, and raised her axes high.

The sky above her began to clear, the storm retreating as the dragon’s lifeless body cooled beneath her feet. Around her, the few surviving soldiers and villagers stared in awe, their faces lit by the flickering glow of dying flames.

She had done it.

The last stand of the bloodied warrior was over. And though she would carry the scars of this battle for the rest of her days, she knew she had proven her worth—not just to her people, but to the gods themselves.