The dust and dirt swirls around him as the sinewy shape of a man slumps to the ground, flat on his back. His hands flail desperately, eager to save himself. His eyes snap back to mine own, locked once again as we had just moments ago. This time they plead for mercy. Without slacking my grip, I twist my spear deeper into his chest. Immediately his arms stop and fall to his sides; all life vanquished from them. The life in his eyes, lasts just a little longer.
I have no mercy.
Two more Persian men rush in from my two sides toward the front. Stepping to my right and over the corpse on the ground, I leave my stuck spear behind and I pivot sharply as my foot touches down. The sudden twisting motion takes me out of the path of the man to my left at the same time giving momentum to the sweep of my shield wielded in my off hand. The shield swings in a wide arc as I complete my spin coming to a stop only when its’ bronze surface smashes into the other Persians face after breaking through his charge. Blood splats into the air. But more is to come.
The Persian howls in pain as he clutches at his even further misshapen nose only for his howls to die, like he will, as I complete my rotation by shoving my sword into his belly at an upward angle. It goes under his ribcage and into the life-giving center of his being. I had withdrawn it from it’s scabbard while in the mist of smashing his face in.
The Persian I sidestepped, comes charging in again. This time he makes a better show of it. I free my sword fast to meet him and catch his low sword thrust with the edge of my shield. Turns out it was a feint, and he then makes a fast swing for my head. I make a quick duck under and below his blow; he’s not fast enough. Keeping low and my shield around me, I shuffle a step back as he recovers his swing. Seeing my signs of cautious retreat, the Persian decides to press his “advantage”. However a quick upward swipe with my shield knocks his weapon arm to the side, leaving him open to a swift kick to the guts, doubling him over and thus making him miss the sight of my sword coming down on him.
I never retreat.
Looking up, the path is littered with bodies of Persians left in the wake of the front line that I was following behind of. A pity, looks like only the Gods will be able to tell which head had once belonged to the body at my feet.
A cry goes up. It is my King Leonidas. He stands at the front of us all and leads us into battle, not like the self proclaimed God-King Xerxes who commands from a throne behind his rabble. The remaining group of Persians tremble before my Lord Leonidas. Raising his spear high, he raises the war cry again “To the cliffs!”
I am of the 300.
Heh. Is it any guess by now that I loved the movie?
