[@thewizardguy]

Mithias flew at Valentus with merciless, unremittient attacks, immune to tiring. Although frequently driven back, each of his returns was an inevitability, much like time itself, relentless. The edges of his clothing singed and caught fire at times as they graced the peripheral of his pyrokinetic defenses into the surrounding inferno. Yet every strike he made failed, one after another, and every dodge and dash just barely cleared the radiant hammer of death as it found intricate paths toward its target. 

How was this being so strong? The futility, the frustration of death unable to deliver began to demand Mithias' return to reason. It began to wake him up. It wasn't the power Valentus had, or his physical strength or speed, but his unshakable will in the face of total dispair that was turning the tide. The void could not devour him. He was weathering the storm with his faith.

Finally, a miscalculation caused Mithias to be too close to the daemonhammer as it crashed into the ground right beside him, casting a wave of force that blew the vampire's small frame across the street and into a concrete wall, which broke on impact. Rex opened fire, pelting the knight with bolts that were basically shrugged off. Mithias pushed his way out of the rubble with his one arm, hair over his face in such a way that only his fangs could be seen. His mouth had the expression of pain. 

Despair and meaninglessness had undone his will, and the forces of chaos had seen fit to use this for their advantage, yet they had never intended that the vampire serve them forever. That, would have given Mithias a purpose, an antithesis to his transformation. He was meant only to be used and then discarded. Valentus had proven himself unkillable, at least to a mere pawn of Omega. Mithias was useless, wrecked. It was time for him to be abandoned and destroyed. 

The titanium sword was still in his left hand as Mithias once again approached Valentus, then it unexpectedly clattered to the gound. The far half of the blade had been broken off. Mithias raised his head wearily, then dropped to his knees. He was too weak, barely able to hold off the heat that threatened to consume him most painfully into ash. He looked at Valentus, as if seeing him for the first time. He may or may not have been aware of what had happened, but he knew, he was going to die. This giant knight before him was glorious, a hero, a bastion of light against the darkness, and he simply could not be overcome. Like a defeated devil before an angel, Mithias prepared himself. Was there anyone who could save him now?