Tactition Iona

The strangest thing was how painless it was. The shock prevented her from feeling anything. Staring at the javelin, it occurred to Iona that she would die. Up until this point, it seemed she was invincible. She had survived every battle and delivered her teammates to victory each time. Except for now. Thinking back now, she realized how foolish it was of her to get separated. If this were chess, she would only have to retrace her steps. Only this wasn't chess.

She blinked, bringing herself back into the present. Funny. The way the weapon went through her body made it look fake, as if she had stuck two pieces of a javelin on her clothing. The blood soaking the front of her shirt was enough to prove the javelin was real. She pressed a hand to the fabric, grimacing at how hot the blood was. Slowly, she looked up at her opponent. The Risen knight stared back at her from the shadows of its helmet, its glowing red eyes gleaming in the twilight. It began to make its way to her, its rusting armor clanking with every slow step. Iona watched it with dull eyes. She couldn't move away. Exhausted, she waited for it to come to her.

It stopped a foot in front of her, so close Iona could smell the flesh rotting inside the suit of armor. She stared, shivering, as it reached down and curled its fingers around the one end of the javelin. "No," she whispered through a swollen lip.

The knight pulled the javelin free from Iona's abdomen. She screamed, but only a squeak emerged. Blood flooded her mouth and dripped down her chin, and more began to flow freely from the gaping wound through her stomach. The pain filled her mind, tearing at her skull. The knight lifted a foot and kicked her so she fell back into the grass. Gasping, Iona kept a hand pressed to her wound as the knight lifted its javelin for the final blow. A bit unnecessary, Iona thought in her last moment of consciousness. She was going to die either way, final blow or not. Just before the knight moved, she closed her eyes and waited in darkness.

"Iona!" someone shouted. "Iona, no!" She felt an arm slide under her shoulders and lift her slightly. "Iona, please, open your eyes! Iona!!!" Then their voice faded altogether, and there was silence.

"Wake up," said a voice softly. "Hey. Wake up."

Iona opened her eyes and found them immediately flooded with light. She winced, holding up a hand to block out the rays of sunshine. A figure stepped away from her. As her eyes became adjusted to the brightness, she could make out a tall man with gray hair and two scars crossing each other on his cheek. "I'm not dead," she said uncertainly. The man shook his head, paused, nodded, and shook his head again.

"No, you're not," he said finally.

"But I died," insisted Iona, getting to her feet. She saw the man wore the same robes she did and she narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?"

"Colin. The others will want to see you. Come on."