Protecting a Sword

(And I'm back with another thing from the kink meme. My prompt this time was epic soul bonding similar to whatever they have going on in The Sentinel fandoms. And I was given bonus points for making Natasha the dominant personality.)

 

Marisa cursed the foolish woman she was rushing to rescue. She was having an easy time of the battle before that point, having only just switched sides. The beasts and soldiers confused her for ally, and were easily separated from their lives. And then she spied a woman in white attempting to aid a knight that had been unhorsed. Given his awkward movements, his arm had likely been broken.



She proved she could fight well enough, but the Baal were ferocious beasts. And it seemed that the silly girl was still getting the hang of her magic. The blasts of light were effective, but poorly aimed and unfocused in her panic.



Marisa, though new to fighting these creatures, was still one of the sharpest swords money could buy. Whatever tar running through their veins stained the ground as she fell on the monsters like a steel wind.



Naturally though, when a small (the size of a caravan) spider can’t get the job done, a larger (the size of a small house) one is much more proper. Pity the job was apparently ripping her in half.



It’s claws and fangs dripped foul poison, and Marisa clearly had her work cut out for her. The cleric had busied herself attempting to get the knight into fighting condition. Marisa instead busied herself cutting off one of the monster’s front legs.



She hadn’t been aware that Baal could do anything except hiss and spit before that point. This one could roar.



It stomped forward in a berserker rage, rushing her and whipping out it’s remaining claws in a flurry of strokes easily deadlier then her own.



At the same time she managed to halfway blind the thing, it impaled her sword arm. And it was here that she truly bore witness to the fruits of her father’s training.



Swordplay was key, but it had come second to discipline over her mind and soul. She ignored the strike, passed over her pain, and removed the arm with her own sword. She would not be felled by something like this creature’s venom if it could be avoided. She forced herself to fall silent, holding her blade in her off hand, trying to get herself used to the awkward balance caused by her sacrifice, and leapt forward again to finish blinding the demon.



The knight had leapt forward, healed enough at least to aid the weakened Marisa. And the Baal found itself cornered, a dangerous state for anything to be in. The final strike happened in an instant.



--



At the same time the Baal reared back and hammered with a claw, the knight took advantage of the opening to impale the beast’s soft underbelly.



Franz turned away from the dead monster, only to see that the claw he had avoided hadn’t been intended for him. Lying on the ground was the woman who had come to their aid, dying of the worst wound he had ever seen across her middle. The cleric would not be able to heal that in time before she was gone.



He could only watch, detached as Sister Natasha walked forward to kneel at the swordswoman’s side. Natasha had leaned her face to the other woman’s, and Franz recognised the kiss as part of this warrior’s last rites. He shut his eyes and bowed his head in respect of the life that was lost for theirs, but opened them in wide shock as he saw the bright glow emanating from the healing staff.



With her lips still pressed to the wounded fighter’s, she moved her staff over the wound, healing it as she would any other. He watched in awe, knowing that what he was seeing was nothing short of a miracle.



“Franz, please bring me her arm.” She said when she looked up from her work.



“Y-yeah…”