Both men's swords were covered with small chinks where steel had chipped when they clashed against each other. Aurthor made a strong downward hack, Zamiel managed to block it, but it threw him off his balance and he stumbled back, Aurthor followed trough with a strike that knocked the sword right out of Zamiel's hand. He fell to the ground as his brother closed in with a thrust aimed at his heart. He was quick to roll to the side so that the sword just pierced his shoulder as he escaped. It cut a gash in more than an inch, but still better than had it taken his life. Zamiel stood up and with his left hand, drew out his seaxe. He jumped back to avoid another rush of Aurthor's blade.

 Zamiel feinted, using the knife like a long dagger to thrust at Aurthor's right hand, Aurthor jumped back to dodge it. Zamiel withdrew his arm and like one would do with a knife in a street fight, tossed up the seaxe only to catch it with his right hand. He took hold of the weapon with one hand clutching the end of the blade, something that only a foolish child would do as he mistook it for a toy. He was no fool. Aurthor made yet another powerful attack with his blade, Zamiel took the seaxe above his head and blocked it, even as he did so the blade cut deep into his palm. He winced at the sting and the pain that followed, but ignored it as he forced the blade into a sideways push, Aurthor's blade flew out of his hand as he danced back, Zamiel took the seaxe into a horizontal slash, just barely cutting his opponent's belly. The cut was shallow and just barely drew blood, but it was successful in slicing open the thick bearskin.

 There would be no more battling with weapons, it now came down to each man's ability to fight with bare hands. Trying hard to catch his breath after the frenzy of attacks, Aurthor spoke. "Who. . . . . .are you?" he panted. Zamiel grew furious. "I am a bastard son born to a Saxon whore and raised as a slave in Camelot. I am a sword-Dane and a good friend to Gouthren and Cedric, I am the son of Uther Penndragon, my name is Zamiel Utherson, brother to the dead Morgan LeFay, and half brother to the treasonous piece of goat shit named Artos Penndragon." he proclaimed with scorn and hatred as a fire burned bright in his eyes. Aurthor gasped. "You, you're the slave that my father was so kind to." he said, his surprise was replaced by a sudden insanity, a madness inside of him, he suddenly felt as carefree and as happy as he had the night he had killed his father and usurped the throne. "Then it is only fitting that you die the same way that our damned worthless father did!" he laughed as he took off his bearskin armor and rushed Zamiel with his wild fists.

 Zamiel rolled to the side and threw off his own coat. He waited for Aurthor to swing his fist before he drove his knee into his gut and sending his elbow down onto the back of his neck. Without giving him a chance to recover or even feel the full impact, Zamiel grabbed Aurthor by the hair and pulled his head up so as to hit his jaw with a strong upercut. Aurthor staggered back, but before he could react, Zamile dance back a step and sent a well-aimed kick square into his neck. Aurthor flew back and fell down, unable to breathe, he knew his jaw had just been shattered. Zamiel made sure of that by advancing with yet another blow to the side of the mouth, as well as a kick to the other side as Aurthor fell back again.

 As Aurthor lay on his back choking, trying desperately to regain breath, Zamiel walked over and grabbed his Frankish seaxe. He went back over to Aurthor, who was choking and writing in agony, with bones broken and losing blood the king tried to crawl away, but it was of no use. Zamiel took the seaxe and used it to cut off Aurthor's legs at the knees, something that took far more effort than severing an arm. Though he was battered and bleeding, hearing Aurthor's wretched agonizing screams brought him joy, the kind of insane joy that some can only find in the pain of certain others. After he saw that Aurthor was legless and bleeding more by the second, Zamiel turned the man onto his back and held the short sword's tip directly to his chin. "Now, dear brother, I am going to show you what it is to truly suffer. For every innocent man, woman, and child you have slaughtered, you will now know to absolute meanings of Pain, Misery, Suffering, and Agony. . . . . . . . . ." Zamiel said with a sadistic, evil grin as he used the seaxe like a large dagger, slicing and craving up Aurthor's face into a bloody mess, every inch he moved the blade drew more blood as well as yet another scream from his victim.

 The sun had set when Zamiel finally made his way back to the village, seaxe tucked away in his bearskin coat, holding his longsword like a dagger and lazily dragging it along, making a cut in the ground as he walked. In the other hand he carried the horribly mutilated and disfigured head of Aurthor  Penndragon, which was now without eyes, a broken jaw that had been hacked away at until was no longer a human bone, but a thin piece of something only attacked to the skull by the joints. The cheek bones were both cracked, and both eyes had been cut out. Zamiel was covered in blood that was mostly Aurthor's. Other than countless shallow cuts, a sprained ankle, what may have been a cracked rib, and broken knuckles that had been bleeding for at least an hour, he was unhurt and had quite enjoyed his walk back.

 When he finally got into the village, he saw it had almost all burned down, nothing remained but the stone tower, outside of which he saw one of the slaves with a torch. It was Catherine.

 "Catherine, I'm so glad you're safe." he said as the two lovers embraced. Zamiel dropped the skull and the sword as he held her close in his arms. They spent several minutes holding each other before she noticed the remains of Aurthor's skull on the ground. What're we going to do with that?" she asked, quite puzzled. Zamiel said to her in a calm and collected voice "The same thing we would do if he was a real person, we throw the piece of shit into the fire, now he'll see what the Gods do to traitors."

 He walked into the tower and saw the bodies all piled up there, Irish, Welsh, and Saxon alike were thrown around the be lit aflame. The bodies were enough to cover the entire first floor of the tower, and then they were stacked four of five high, with all the straw in the village on top of them to fuel the fire. The Saxons were on top, but there was a final corpse on top of the straw. Zamiel only saw it first as he threw Aurthor's head onto the pile. It was Gouthren. He staggered back and saw the sad look on Catherine's face. Zamiel found himself trying hard to hold back the tears. He managed to do it long enough to look at the body of his friend and say "Gouthren, friend, brother, please, wait for me in Asgaard, Catherine, Cedric, and myself will all join you there someday, and we can rejoice in the Golden Hall." he took the lit torch from Catherine's hand and threw it onto the pile of bodies as bitter tears of sorrow rolled down his cheek.

 "Zamiel, Cedric and his men left hours ago, they had me wait here for you. He said that he'll wait at a village twenty miles to the West, but he can only afford to wait for two days." Catherine told him as she held him, consoling him for the loss of his best friend in this world. Even as he cried, he felt something warm inside of him as he looked to the East, the Night had passed and the Sun would rise soon. He heard birds begin to chirp and off in the distance, a stream ran quietly. He wiped away his tears and looked to Catherine, staring deep into her eyes. He saw Hope.