This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/BareMinimumChef on 2025-11-27 23:41:14+00:00.

He stood in the line, looking at them.

But every minute more he stood meant 20 more civilians having a chance of survival.

He stabbed his spear into them, holding the advance.

But every minute more he held meant 20 more civilians having a chance of survival.

He threw his broken spear and drew his sword, fighting like a demon.

But every minute more he fought meant 15 more civilians had a chance of survival.

He bled from small cuts and a broken nose, snarling at them and hurling insults.

But every minute more he bled meant 15 more civilians having a chance of survival.

His imbuements ran dry, forcing him to charge at them with muscle and wits alone.

But every minute more of charge meant 10 more civilians having a chance of survival.

He was hit in the head, barely standing, his ears ringing and his vision blurring.

But every minute more he continued meant 10 more civilians having the chance of survival.

His Armor was heavy, weighing him down more than even on his first day wearing it.

But every minute more he stood meant 5 more civilians having a chance of survival.

His arms were made out of lead, moving in slow motion even to his slowing mind.

But every minute more he swung his sword meant 5 more civilians having a chance of survival.

He was bleeding out, only staggering now, barely breathing.

But every minute more he breathed meant 1 more civilian had the chance of survival.

Already dying, he screamed at them, challenging them closer.

Every minute more he delayed dying meant 1 more civilian had the chance of survival.

He stood alone on the Battlefield. The pain suddenly gone.

He was standing on a mountain of corpses.

Corpses of them!

Corpses of his friends.

His own Corpse.

But They! were gone.

In the distance the Sun was slowly setting, framing the lone figure slowly approaching him in shadows.

“Come with me Berserker.” the figure called out. “Come to rest, you earned it.”

He smiled. “Did i manage to save Civilians.” He asked.

The figure, though robed in a black cloak which obscured every millimeter of his body, smiled visibly. “Yes. Yes you did.” the figure answered. “I didn't have to come to this town for any Civilians today.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and Death itself, because only he himself was sufficient to guide Human Warriors, took him with to eternal rest.