The sounds of approaching bandits grew louder as they crashed through the underbrush with the confidence of predators who'd successfully trapped their prey. Jack counted at least a dozen distinct voices.
"Surround them!" A rough voice shouted from the trees. "Take the nobles alive if possible, but kill anyone who resists!"
"The woman's armed!" Another bandit called out. "Watch the one with the giant weapon!"
Sera's laughter was like crystal breaking in a cathedral, beautiful and utterly wrong. "Armed? Oh, you sweet, simple little lambs. You have absolutely no idea what you've stumbled into."
She spun the war scythe in a complex pattern that made the air itself sing with barely contained violence.
The weapon moved like a living extension of her will, its curved blade describing arcs of potential death that seemed to hang in the air like afterimages.
"WHISTLE!"
"SNAP!"
