Quoted By:
...and the Chosen's arm flew, now a left stump alone. He felt all feelings go cold in his body, paralyzed by the fear filling him then. It was a terrifying sensation, because now there was nothing there to feel where there should be. His glazed eyes focused out, away from the grey arrival, and more to the blade he wielded. The vibrating, molecular disrupting blade of a Samurai for sure.
The Chosen squealed like a pig, and stumbled back on his feet, clutching the bident he now wielded with one hand and three fingers only. He stabbed forth, a reaction that transpired all of a sudden with little actual thought put behind it, and he skewered the grey warrior, but they dislodged themself and backed off, not truly put down by the stroke. The Commissar who had challenged the Chosen, eroding steadily into a pile of melting rust, but not nearly gone just yet, rose, and raised that jian at the Chosen.
The Chosen was truly afraid. Him, afraid. When he was supposed to be the fear. The dreaded father couldn't have been more amused and displeased at the same time...
>The Chosen ordered his men to attack. (THEY SHALL SEE WEAKNESS)
>The Chosen gave into instinct, and fought like an animal. (THEY SHALL SEE WEAKENING)
>The Chosen tried to flee. (THEY SHALL SEE HIM FALL)
>The Chosen begged for his life. (THEY SHALL SEE HIS TRUE COLORS)
