The crusader gurgled, blood spilling out of his mouth as his world faded to black, slumping into the dirt. The battlefield was now silent once more, with an eerie moonlight painting it like a dramatic piece in an epic. The raindrops were steady and constant, ever so slowly washing the blood off Mikasa's hands. 
Moments slowly passed as the realization washed over her like the rain. It was broken only by the sound of stumbling to her left. If she turned, she'd see Soka with a head caked in blood stepping slowly from the side of the battlefield, his face grim as his eyes were dark.
[hr]
"That bitch." Rylen seethed, seeing what had just transpired below. Mel had told him to stay put, and for a moment he was going to tell his friend to shove it up his ass. He wasn't his commander! But in his head, he knew that Mel had been right. Swordfights did not often last long in real time. By the time he rode down there, one of them would have been dead already. Better to stay hidden. He swore though that if any other crusader made a movement, he would gallop down there even if he was ordered to stay put by the King himself. 

"Seems you didn't hit that one hard enough." Mel noticed, nodding over to the left of the battlefield. Rylen squinted, before it dawned on him that a familiar figure was shambling towards the murderess. "I don't think I'll ever make that mistake again." he promised, his voice full of the promise of death and vengeance. That had been one of his men down there. Someone he might have shared a meal with in the past and had a laugh with. He couldn't see his face from so far away and to his back but...
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