100 Words: Going to Hell Again
This may have been a terrible mistake.
The Duke comes at me again, preternatural lightning dancing on his arms, even brighter than the light reflecting from his saber. No mere “palpable hit”: before I can even raise my own blade, he takes a dozen more bites out of my arm, shoulder, and chest. Then he steps back swiftly and I stagger even more.
“You’re starting to look like hamburger, my dear boy,” he says, a genuine note of concern in his voice. “Ready to yield?”
I look at the ground, where tiny red drops fall from me like rain: “Maybe...?”
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For consideration: "Self-confidence leaks from a thousand wounds."
The Duke comes at me again, preternatural lightning dancing on his arms, even brighter than the light reflecting from his saber. No mere “palpable hit”: before I can even raise my own blade, he takes a dozen more bites out of my arm, shoulder, and chest. Then he steps back swiftly and I stagger even more.
“You’re starting to look like hamburger, my dear boy,” he says, a genuine note of concern in his voice. “Ready to yield?”
I look at the ground, where tiny red drops fall from me like rain: “Maybe...?”
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For consideration: "Self-confidence leaks from a thousand wounds."