Pain blossomed across her torso as her opponent’s dagger sliced through her robe and bit deep into her skin. She gasped as she felt blood well up from the wound.
She managed to stammer out: “You . . . you used a real weapon . . . protocol demands that only . . .”
“Protocol?,” he sneered. “Protocol for my faith demands that we win at any cost.”
“Your ‘faith’ is a perversion of the Truth!” she shot back, as she eyed her opponent warily.
Holding a dagger in his left hand and his Consecrated Blade in his right, he paused in his assault as he continued lecturing: “Truth is a matter of perspective. Even good and evil are such . . . limiting concepts. Power, on the other hand – power is pure, and holy. Power is right. Power is adulation. And in the right hands, power is . . . victory.”
She raised her shield just in time, as his Blade snaked out at the word “victory”. But she was nearing exhaustion from the battle, and bleeding badly. Her Blade and Shield were wavering, while his burned brightly in the morning mist. She continued to block his attacks, but with each blow her arms felt more and more like lead. Any second now, and she would move too slowly to parry or block.
At least, she though, he stopped lecturing her as if she was a novice, and not an ordained Priestess of the Way.
And then it happened. His Blade pierced her Shield and hit her soul, causing her to black out and fall. He stood a moment, savoring the impending victory. As he lifted his arm for the killing blow, however, an bolt of emerald energy hit him from behind, sending sparks of pain shooting through his body. Her companion had awoken at last from his magically induced slumber. He grinned, silently saluted his opponent, and reached for his Temple, pulling himself back to the place of his Power. He knew they would meet again.
Blessings & Peace,