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The Fall of Cuauhtemoc by K.J. GiacomozziSUMMARY: Cuauhtemoc and Gu-lag are brothers, though no common blood runs in their veins. In an effort to stem the tide of evil that has washed over the land, the two warriors have travelled to its demonic source. (Please Rate this story and provide feedback!)
He had told Glaceus, his leige, that he couldn't remember it. He hadn't lied. How could one remember death? Or had he just blocked it out? He furrowed his brow, thinking back to Morkoth, the dwarven complex that had been overrun with demons. Flashes of memory came to him, began assaulting him, and Cuauhtemoc's eyes grew wide as he tried to piece it all together. Then it hit him. And he remembered...
The demons where everywhere. He and Gu-lag battled constantly with the darkness closing in around them. He remembered wondering what they were doing there, why they were there, as the odds shifted and it became obvious that they were outmatched. Then the wounds. It wasn't the pain that weakened their spirits, that only fueled the fire of their rage. It was the inevitability of it all. They would not escape this time. Many of the foul creatures lay dead, but there were always more, too many more...
He remembered one particular demon. It stood well over nine feet tall and its entire body was covered with horns, particularly its massive horned head. He remembered this demon because it had cut off their escape; he remembered this demon because it delivered the telling blow.
He had tried to roll past it so that he and Gu-lag could flank the creature and gain the advantage. It had worked many times before. But this demon had seen him fight and it had witnessed his tricks. It was prepared.
As he tumbled past, he lashed out with his wakizashi at the back of the demon's knee. The demon roared as his sword sliced cleanly through tendons and its leg gave out beneath it, but whether it was a roar of pain or a roar of triumph, he could not be certain, for the demon's maw twisted into a terrible grin as it thrust with its wicked spear.
In mid-tumble, his own attack had left him vulnerable in an awkward position and he was not able to dodge the coming blow. He remembered kicking off the ground desperately in an attempt to put some distance between himself and the foul beast, but his attempt was futile. The attack was unavoidable.
It struck him on the left side of his abdomen and pinned him against the wall. He shuddered, suddenly remembering with perfect clarity the feel of that wickedly barbed spear as it sunk in just below his heart. At first it was only dull force and the cracking of his ribs, the inevitable delayed only momentarily by the mithril links of his shirt, but even his prized armor could not protect him in the hellish place. The links snapped apart and the spear continued its path, rending the weak padding beneath his mithril shirt and sinking deeply, piercing flesh and bone before the tip chimed against the stone wall signaling the end of the spear's deadly course.
Time seemed to slow... His katana was on the ground a few feet to his left. He must have dropped it when he was flung against the wall. He still clutched his wakizashi in his right hand though. Where was Gu-lag? He couldn't see! Then he felt a tug. The creature was trying to pull the spear from him! Though his hands tingled as the feeling began to leave them, he grabbed the shaft of the spear with his left hand, holding it in place, and gripped his wakizashi tightly in his right.