Sigmah Blackmarrow
And I heard, as it were, the noise of thunder: One of the four beasts saying: "Come and see." And I saw. And behold, a white horse.
The day the Destroyer died.
Sigmah rested on the blood spattered snow, and took account. Right arm missing all the way to the elbow. left arm to the shoulder. Spinal column and everything below his ribs was gone in the blast of energy. His armor was broken, the necromantic energies leaking from his destroyed body. He had two ice swords through his chest, damage from the elementals that the Destroyer had summoned up, and the left side of his skull was shattered. His mind was slowed. Normally this assessment would have taken 1.43 seconds. Instead, it took 2.23 seconds.
He finally came to the conclusion when he saw someone on a white horse riding up. Clad in black robes, Sigmah felt no magic coming from this creature. It was simply an ending. Sigmah's father, or at least, what Sigmah considered his father.
He was dying.
A simple fact. He thought about calling to his clan for aid, then decided against it. There was still battle to be fought against the Destroyer. To distract them from the battle, with a hopeless case, might make the difference between members of his family dying or living.
He could not let them do that. Service before self. Duty before dishonor. His father said nothing, neither approving nor disapproving of his decision. His father simply was. That was all there was to it. Sigmah could accept that. It was what he strived to be, but failed far too often.
He looked up at his father, silent understanding, and let what he was holding onto, go. The fierce blue eyelights of undeath faded into nothing, and there was a release of necromantic energy, blighting the soft snow and the ground beneath him. As he did so, he heard the trumpets, and knew he had done right.
And so passed Sigmah.
