Percieval was already bloodied, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Just moments before, he had thrown himself into the path of a stray bolt of lightning, shielding his grandson—Arteé. The impact had charred his skin and cracked his ribs, leaving him staggered.
He looked back at the trembling Arteé and then up at the oncoming storm.
"Is this the 'glorious victory' you wanted?! You talk of Valhalla, but there is no honor in a slaughter fueled by treachery."
He braced his legs, his muscles screaming in protest as he prepared to meet the blow.
"If this is where I fall, I will do it as a wall!"
Now, as the Giant's lightning-enhanced fist fell like a falling star, Percieval looked up. He was weakened and his black blade was still out of reach. With Arteé trembling behind him, the old warrior braced his broken body, preparing to face a blow that threatened to erase them both from the earth.
Then, just centimeters from impact, the momentum vanished.
