The arrow shot from its strain with the power of a hundred bulls skimming through the air, chilling the atmosphere around it as it drove towards its target.
Across the battlefield a young man dodged a curving blade as it slid over his head. His opponent was swift in his strikes, wielding a sword as long as his height with a dexterity only a master could possess. The young man looked at the woods on his sides. Darkness veered his thoughts into the forest, voices whispered in his mind. The sharp edge of the sword cut into his flesh and he yelled and stumbled. His side was profusely bleeding, his breath now heavy. The sword was swung again, and as he looked at the forest for the last time, the shadows of the woods beckoned and expanded through his vision.
In the darkness fear embodied itself into a spirit of malevolence. A nightmare crept in on the soldier, and grasped him from the neck. He felt chocking. A thousand blades of pain pierced through his brain crunching through the little shards of hope that were left lying around this universe. Battered down to the core the young man lost his grip on life and said a prayer for his last time.
A cold chill swept across his face and he opened his eyes. In front of him the swordsman stood still as if time had stopped, a sky-blue arrow embedded in his chest. His foe's body was engulfed in a prism of ice. The soldier looked up as if to thank the gods and through the clouded sky the sun's blaze cut its way and shone over him. The wound on his side closed off and with a renewed energy bestowed on him by a miracle he tucked at his back for his own weapon.
The silver claymore dwarfed the frozen swordsman as it was summoned from the soldier's back. The soldier pulled it up to the sky and he jumped.
''For Demacia!", he cried, and with a single blow he crushed his foe into chunks of ice that slowly melted in his shadow, cast by the sun standing at his shoulder.
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