He strikes hard as his sword 'clinks' against his heavy armour. A mixture of bloodsweattearsmightandanger. He battles on - every last feint of strength soaring through his veins.
His legs weary. His stomach gripping. His lips parched.
Night and day. No rest for the wanted. No rest for the weak.
Suddenly, a gush of blood stains the sand below his feet. A soaring pain shoots across his belly like a saw to a tree. Like waking up before the ending of a happy dream. Like losing a 100m race by a millisecond.
He turns around and falls to the ground only to catch a glimpse of his prosecutor. He fought hard to resist only to fall and catch his last breath.
Twas the end of his 50 year reign. His body is weak but his mind is gold.