It felt more like a dream, or a nightmare, than reality. Olorus and Worth were at her sides, but here, on the front lines, there was only so much protecting they could do. Her life was in her own hands.
Killing her first Darvellian-parrying his sword strike before running him through with her saber and throwing him to the ground-had inspired a strange reaction in her soul. It was a combination of horror, surreal awe, and glory all at once. Snowflakes clung in her eyelashes as she fought. When the next enemy came at her-launching a clumsy strike with his axe at her upper body-her hands responded automatically. She deflected the blade and sliced horizontally below the attacker's helmet. Her aim was perfect. Her saber cut through his neck as cleanly as a butcher's knife. Even as the life poured from his throat, he raised his axe to strike at her again, forcing her to slice a second time and finish the job.