Mediocre Writing

Solus' knuckles are white as he clutches his sword. He shakes. His eyes meet mine, wide and searching for hope. I try to project courage, but I have no hope for him. I turn away. Five thousand men stand together at the foot of the mountain. Five thousand men face death.

The evacuation is too slow. The column of citizens lacks order and direction. Crying children, braying mules and panicked old men. They make no progress. They have no time. We fight to buy it for them, but we fight in vain. The ones who realise this stayed in their houses, huddled together and praying for salvation. They may find peace in their last moments.

The ground trembles. Solus whimpers. "Brother..." I cannot bear his fear. I search for words of comfort, but words fail me. What can I say? What can anyone, faced with this?

Thick black smoke rises from the restless peak. I look at my sword. It's blunt. Laughter bursts from my lips, and I hear the hysteria in the sound. The end of Pompeii, the end of days... and my sword is blunt. You can't kill a dragon with a blunt sword, for Jupiter's sake. Solus stares at me. He thinks I've gone insane.

"Brother," I say, "my sword is blunt. Look." I wave the sword before his eyes. He looks, but he doesn't understand. I suppose it's not funny.

A sound like the death cries of a thousand cattle rends the air. Fire and ash fill the sky. It rises, an infernal leviathan of incomprehensible size, spewing flames, wings unfurling like the shadows of clouds before the sun. The wrath of Pluto, the might of the elements unleashed upon the world.

Solus drops his sword and falls to his knees, screaming. Prayers fill the air around me, a chorus of desperation. Pointless. There can be no victory here. We are not heroes. We will die like grass withering in the desert, not a trace of our identity.

It takes flight, wings beating the air like the drums of Mars. Its serpentine body uncoils in the air, and from its jaws the punishment of the god’s blooms.

I smell them burning. Hundreds die on the first pass. I kneel beside Solus. I cannot fight, I can only burn. But I can spare him, he deserves more. I pull him close, and take his sword. His is sharp, for he took more care in his life than I. He trembles. "Brother," I whisper. "Find peace, and know not pain." The blade slides easily between his ribs, and he is still. I mutter a silent prayer.

I rise and look around me. Shrieks of agony assault my ears.  The pure terror of my men carved into my retinas. Pompeii has fallen. The shadow falls over me once more. I stare up at the demon, feeling nothing.
Elysium awaits.