forest warrior

With precision and grace, the forest-warrior sliced a wet crimson path with his purple energized blades as he moved up the rocky slope. Any demon that came too close was a dusted soul. Halfway up the ridge, he was surrounded in a sea of evil. Black souls poured in from every direction, slowing his assault. For hours his blades kept death at bay, but every man has his limits. And he knew it. His muscles began to fail, occasionally missing a mark. “Curse this crap!” he said, as he planted both armored feet in a wide stance, crouched and thrust both blades into the ground...