The woman dropped to her knees with a dull thud.
Her hands trembled as she tried to steady herself on the floor.
When she lifted her head and saw what I was holding, her breathing changed.
Her eyes widened so fast it was almost frightening.
"That sword," she shouted, her voice sharp and cracked, "where did you get it!"
Blood ran down her side, soaking into her clothes, but she didn't even glance at the wound.
Her focus was locked on the weapon in my hand.
I blinked, confused by her reaction.
I looked down at the black sword, then back at her.
"You mean this sword?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she pushed herself up with a grunt and lunged at me.
Her movement was sloppy, desperate, like she didn't care if she lived or died as long as she reached it.
Sarah yelled my name, but I didn't move out of the way.
The blade went forward almost on its own.
The woman froze mid-step as the sword pierced her.
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out at first.
