Gaheris lay on the ground, blood bubbling from his lips.
The shock of the two attacks the shattered wrist, the exploded femur had sent his body into a state beyond pain. He could feel everything and nothing at once, his nerves screaming and silent, his mind struggling to hold onto consciousness.
He stared at his hand the ruin of it and tried to think.
It would have been better if my hand were to be decapitated, he thought grimly. At least then I would be able to attach a blade to it. I would have called myself something like... One Sword Arm Man.
A bitter laugh bubbled up with the blood in his throat.
Oh, I'm bad at naming.
He tried to move his leg. Nothing. The femur was gone shattered into fragments that had pierced every muscle, every vessel, every nerve. He couldn't walk. Couldn't stand. Couldn't even shift without agony lancing through his entire body.
But this bastard.
He looked up at Titus at the general standing over him with that calm, patient smile and felt something burn in his chest.
I have to kill him.
His teeth ground together. His good hand curled into a fist against the sand.
"I'll pulverize you," he rasped, the words dripping with blood and hatred. "You fucking bastard."
Titus laughed.
"HAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHA!"
The sound echoed across the battlefield, bouncing off rocks and corpses, filling the air with something that was almost joy.
He wiped a tear from his eye genuine amusement flickering across his weathered face.
"I don't know what to say." He shook his head slowly. "Stupidity, or no, no. It's definitely stupidity."
He crouched down beside Gaheris, bringing his face close to the fallen knight's.
"You're one who, though you are on the brave side, you really don't have it in there, do you?"
He raised his hand, middle finger extended, and tapped Gaheris on the forehead.
"You lack brains, you fool."
He straightened, his smile fading into something more serious.
"What did I say again? That's right." He looked down at the broken knight. "I was going to show you how you can use it. I'm sure it's something you have witnessed from the strong of your kind. Your king. Those who rival him in strength. Those high in his ranking."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"The true use of the power of killing intent."
His eyes changed.
For a moment just a moment General Titus focused his gaze entirely on Sir Gaheris.
And the world ended.
A deep, primal fear drove down Gaheris's entire body. It was not like anything he had ever felt. Not the fear of battle. Not the fear of death. Something more.
His muscles locked. Every fiber of his being tensed until his body became as hard as stone. Sweat erupted from every pore, soaking his armor, his face, the sand beneath him. His heart pounded so hard he thought it would burst from his chest.
He tried to speak.
Nothing came.
His mouth opened and closed, opened and closed, but only one sound emerged a single, pathetic moan that seemed to come from somewhere outside himself.
Uhhhhhhhhhhhh...
His mind was scrambled. Like eggs in a hot pan, his thoughts broke apart and scattered, leaving nothing but white noise. No strategy. No hope. No self.
But the killing intent was so focused. So precise. It did not touch the other knights standing nearby. It did not spread to the battlefield beyond. It was a blade honed to a single point and that point was him.
Titus looked down at him, calm and patient.
"Are you learning?" His voice was almost gentle. "Now let me teach you another lesson. The epitome of fear."
He raised a single finger.
"Control. "
Something moved inside Gaheris.
Not his will. Not his choice. Something deeper, something primal, something that had been awakened by the general's gaze. His body began to rise pushing itself up from the sand, straightening its broken limbs, standing despite the shattered femur, despite the ruined wrist, despite everything.
He stood there, swaying, blood pouring from his wounds, his eyes wide and empty.
Titus smiled.
"For now," he said quietly, "let me teach you your last lesson."
He looked directly into Gaheris's eyes.
"Die. "
The word was simple. Almost casual. How could a man command another man to die? It made no sense. It was absurd. It was
Gaheris's blood pulsed from his eyes.
It burst from the sockets in twin streams, dark and thick, pouring down his cheeks like tears of crimson. His body convulsed once, twice and then he fell.
He hit the ground without a sound.
His eyes stared at nothing. His chest did not rise. His heart did not beat.
Sir Gaheris of the Knights of the Round Table was dead.
Titus looked down at the body and nodded once.
"This," he said softly, "marks the beginning of a spree of death."
He turned to face the remaining knights Sir Palamedes, Sir Leodegrance, Sir Tor, Sir Dagonet, Sir Ywain and smiled.
Five knights stood against a general who could kill with a word.
And the spree had only just begun.