The Gray Knight

*My first real attempt at a fantasy sword fight :) If you comment on this piece, please be honest. If you didn’t like it, just say so. You don’t have to try and find the one redeeming factor in this piece to make a comment. Tell me it sucks and I should hang myself, it’s the greatest story every, or anything in-between. Just be honest if you comment.


The knight in gray armor stumbled backwards into a small patch of purple flowers, crushing them. May the great spirits forgive me. He bowed his head, briefly, before raising his sword once again. The man standing in front of him did the same.

Steadying his position, the knight advanced forward, and within moments they were engaged in combat.

The knight took long swings, and when the man blocked, the powerful blows shook his balance. But the quickness of the man countered those attacks, and the knight soon found himself stumbling backwards again, this time missing the flowers.

Standing apart, the man and the knight took a moment to rest and catch their breath. As the man’s
breathing slowed, he looked back up at the knight with red eyes aglow, causing the knight to step backwards. The man raised his arms into the air and dark clouds began to circle above him with blue spirits descending from the sky, sending bolts of lightning up and down his sword.

The knight lifted up his visor then knelt down next to the flowers. “This is what you want?” the knight said with his deep, confident voice.

The man stepped back with his right foot and put both hands on the hilt of his sword.

“Alright. If this is what you really want.” The knight rose up, gesturing towards the heavens. Then, out of the ground came a small army of red spirits, and his sword started glowing with flames occasionally leaping out from the tip.

Both holding their swords, they launched themselves at each other once more. Once their swords clashed, a loud boom shook the meadow, ripping the color right out of the grass and flowers. They now fought on a rocky outcropping with no other life around.

The knight swung his sword, but he did not use the strength in his arms; it was the strength in his spirit that did the work. His teeth smashed together, grinding away the surface as he dug deep within, pulling out each last bit of his will power. Each swing he took, left him breathless, but he kept finding the will to continue.

The man’s eyes showed a similar strain, and the bright red that glowed so fierce was now nothing more than a optical whimper. He’s tiring. If only I can keep this up. The knight swung once more, striking the man’s sword. The man stumbled backwards, and the knight could see the man loosen his grip on the sword. He had nothing left.

The knight, feeling victory, tapped the last corpuscle of power left within him and raised his sword up high. He stood there, watching his foe for a moment, then brought the sword down towards the man’s neck.

But before it could strike its target, the man raised his sword up and deflected the blow.

No. It couldn’t be! How could he still have any strength left? The knight dropped his sword and both he and the man fell to their knees, unable to stand.