Breath that sounded like a child's rattle echoed up through his throat as he gasped for air, fingers feebly clawing at the cross around his neck. The ground was frozen and wet beneath him and he could feel a warm trickle coming from the corner of his mouth. Pain was everywhere, grasping and stabbing at his chest like a thousand tiny knives. He was dying.

"Lord," He choked out the word and blood misted the air as his breathing became more desperate.

"Look upon me with eyes of mercy," A painful cough racked his body and he heard a sob escape his lips. 

"May your healing hand rest upon me," The moon had broken clear of the cloud cover now and a silver light poured down upon him. The destroyed hut leered like some squatting beast above him and he could hear the soft whicker of his horse nearby. He clutched at his sword pommel. If he were to die, he would die with a weapon in his hand.

"May your lifegiving powers flow into the depths of my soul," His breathing was desperately shallow now and it hurt to swallow, to blink, even to think. The end was coming and he felt a rage begin to flicker in the back of his mind. He couldn't die here. He had work to do. Edward, Ulrek, their father... They had to die.

"Restore your servant to health and strength for service in your Kingdom..," His voice was fading even in his own ears, an empty echoing sound within his own mind. Mentally he grasped desperately at anything he could focus on, fixating at last on the moon which seemed to grow ever larger to cloud his vision.

"Amen." He mouthed the final word and felt his body go limp. In an abstract way he felt as though he was floating. At least if he were to die God had given him a final moon, he would miss the moon.

"You will not die today, Solomon Kane." A voice thundered through his head and he felt a sudden surge of hope. "Not today, for you are the right hand of God."

At that moment there was a dazzling burst of light and a being of light materialized in front of him. There were no features visible but a pair of huge wings cast a brilliant light, bathing the entire area in an astounding glow. It appeared to be wearing a tattered white robe that swirled around it despite a decided lack of wind.

"Rise, son of God." A long white hand was extended toward Solomon and with a great effort he reached out his hand to touch the perfect fingers. A shock ran through him and he felt his strength returning. Still holding the outstretched hand he struggled to his knees and bowed his head before the figure.

"Our father said to give you this." The figure now held out a longsword of brilliant white that forced Solomon to shade his eyes as he let go of the long fingers and took the blade. It faded at once to grey steel but he saw a ripple of gold run down the blade. "Use it wisely Solomon and perhaps he will allow you to return home."

Then the being was gone and naught remained but the moonlight and the sword clutched in Solomons hands as he knelt on the cold hard ground. He took a tentative breath, expecting a stab of pain but nothing came. He gingerly climbed to his feet, waiting for the agony to tear at him anew but it did not come. He spat. His saliva was clean and clear. He began to laugh.

He laughed until his sides hurt and tears pricked the corner of his eyes, the sound echoing around the small village that might have been his tomb. Then he thrust the sword into the air and screamed a challenge into the night.

"I liiiiiiiiive!" The sword flashed in the moonlight as he flourished it before driving it home into his scabbard. 

He stooped back into the hut and took up his hat and bag. In a few short strides he had found his horse and mounted in a single bound. He yanked the beasts head around and rode for the capital. 

Gods will would be done, and Solomon his willing instrument.