She senses the man outside her home who hungers for a fight.
She stands to her feet, her hands already on the hilt of her blade.
Determination on her face, confidence spilling forth from her eyes of jade.
He enters, katana unsheathed, cocked against his shoulder, shining in the light of the moon.
His eyes gleaming with excitement at the chance to battle, his blade itching to spell her doom.
He loves the sight of his blade creating blood rivers of crimsen red.
His empty soul reflecting the blackness of the men he has killed dead.
His grin displaying his urge to spill blood and his desire to kill.
His face displaying a need to fight that only spilled blood can fill.
She unsheathes her katana and steps forth to begin the duel.
Metal clashes as their blades connect, the sounds echoing from their feud.
His smile remains, showing the ease at which he is handling the fight.
The speed of his movements increasing becoming a blur in her sight.
He slashed her shoulder, showing he is the superior.
But even clearly bested, she would not give up, she has the heart of a warrior.
She continues to swing her blade, now more erratically.
Her confidence melting away, being replaced by savagery.
He finds pleasure in watching her sanity slip away, this is the battle's cost.
His blood boils with excitement at the sight of her pushing herself, slipping into desperation in an attempt to save her own life in a battle she's already lost.
He continues to toy with her, blocking her strikes.
She loses her form swinging her sword at him with all of her speed and might.
She begins to grow tired, the battle has progressed too long.
And suddenly she realizes that she has fought the entire battle wrong.
She kneels down, her blade digging into the ground, she accepts defeat.
Her body scarred from battle, she feels pain from her head to her feet.
He looks down at the woman whose body and mind he's decimated.
His smile disappears, he looks down at another humans life, ready to eradicate it.
His eyes now full of cynism, his face conveying disappointment from the lack of a real contest.
He raises his sword in disgust, mercy devoid from his being, he was ready to snuff her life out, he believed it was for the best.
He pushed his sword through her abdomen slowly, and watched the last breath leave her.
He stood over her, his sword sheathed, her sword in his hand. He watched her soul make the heavenly transfer.
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