….Jarrod twists his nose and lets out a primeval growl from somewhere within his failing form. “YOU THINK THIS WILL BE THE END! YOU THINK KILLING ME WILL WIN YOUR PETTY LITTLE WAR!” he spits through bloody teeth.

“Of course I do, otherwise my actions would be concentrated elsewhere.” Dulvault replies flippantly, his words felling like the blade of another knife stabbing Jarrod through the stomach, as the many real knives had done moments ago. “You are THEIR leader, you are their KING, and without you they are cattle without a pasture. Can you not see that the war will be won with your death? For I will be the victor, I will be that pasture, I will be their NEW king.” he says proudly while strutting around the weaking Jarrod as he falls to his knees, his eyes staring off into the wilderness before him with no focused point.

“T-T-They won’t accept y-y-you. T-T-They will f-f-fight. S-S-She w-w-will s-s-stop you.” he stammers softly.

Dulvault’s smile widens, “Your whore is no more, find comfort in her arms on the other side,” he spits as he slices the blade of his sword across Jarrod’s throat, severing it from his body….