Broken - 6

[Sabrina pov]

When I woke. It was to the sound of… of battle… There was little doubt within my mind that this was just some bar fight. A war of pride.

No, I was absolutely sure that this was a fight to the death. What wholly convinced me was the waft of blood. A trail of scent that led towards the scene…

Though… to say only that was false. For when I rose, my right arm still aching, phantom sensations of when it had been severed. By that cultists monstrous form.

And that powerful arm that seemed to ooze naught but poison. I breathed. A heavy sigh that brought me closer and closer to the window. One unhurried step after another.

Even now my mind still thought back to its performance. No, if it was just the power of that creature… of that monster, I would not be as…

I shook my head of those thoughts. A tiny shake, brought to me by the light shining in my eyes. The curtains pulled back to reveal explosions littering the surroundings. And amongst the greatest discourage of them all.

A veil, sensed only because of the absent pulse of aura, made to separate this dimension from the rest.

That performance… my efforts shot down by the barest of attention. A slash that seemed to never connect. My one, and only hand, brought itself to my side. Feeling the stitched together limb. 

I was lucky to even still live.

But I could not forget how much of a hindrance to she - the captain - I was. Useless, a mere distraction. And not even for the being we fought but for her. As she needed to keep me alive.

Why? She very well could have let me die, as she did the other druids within our sphere. But she didn't.

Was it because I was valuable, or for some other nascent and unknowable reason. Either way. I am and will, for the foreseeable future - unless there is some sort of miracle healer that could give me my limb back - be useless.

But that was impossible and even entertaining the idea was only detrimental.

And it was for that reason that I grabbed my sword, however dull it may be from disuse, and strode from my little house.

Onto the streets, where death reigned supreme. In situations like this, there was nothing more important than information. A reason for me to go from that little house of mine.

For within this fog of war, within this blood soaked street, there must be at least one ally. One that I could help, in whatever way a cripple may.

…

Blood soaked my boots, my hand grasped to the hilt of my sword. It was still sheathed, as it should be, but there was this presence within the back of my mind.

It told me of danger, a sort of sixth sense. For I had no other name for it.

And within that sense, I shot backwards with strength. Eyes poised towards the being that faced me.

Hooves of a goat, yet seeming all to human, a head with curved horns that seemed to be useful for bashing. And a body that seemed almost sinful within its temptation.

A gulp of my own spit. And I steadied myself, my arm moved to unsheath my sword with but a motion.

Steady grip marked by steady stance. An inferno of aura that spoke of experience. 

There were no words between us. He was a demon and I, a knight. Only one outcome was allowed.

The death of either one of us.

I stepped forward, my balance off. And with a slash broke my stance. My head ducking the grab. 

A beat. Another breath and I was forced to charge even further. As his tail, yes tail, pointed with some sort of edge.

It brought to bear several challenges. For one I could not afford to retreat. As even one hit would take me down. From either that tail or his own claws.

But the tail was my most fearsome enemy. Where his claws could not bend, could be predicted by the movements of muscles.

That tail could not. 

It meant that I had no choice but to clear the distance between us. Where even if he swung that tail around it would do more damage to him rather than to me.

Enough to make only those claws worth using.

And even then, at this distance there would be difficulty even catching me. As I could merely bob and weave.

That was what I had thought. Only it was not the truth. For the first time my sword, bursting with aura, hit him. He flew… No, he didn't fly.

He hovered. Canceling any advantage that my stagger may have dealt.

I was forced to retreat back. Dealing with constant pepperings of that tail. As it extended and distended.

"Shit…" I could only utter that word as it pierced my stomach. It wasn't fatal, not immediately, but given time it would be.

I- I- there was no words. I could say nothing as I fell to my knees. My hair fell over my eyes as I waited for my execution. As with little doubt, this move had crippled me. No longer could I move my muscles, and even if I could.

I was so far off balance that to even move I would have to compensate for so much.

The only thing I could do. Was to stare defiantly at the demon. To spit in the face of death as I had the day of…

There was a rumble within my stomach. Not of something trivial such as hunger or thirst, though that would be of the throat. No, it was of rage.

Not even aimed at the demon that had done this to me. But of my own patheticness, that I had allowed myself to fall to such a state. Where once there was an elite soldier. Now… all that was left was one traumatized and tainted by defeat.