The feeling of slashing through flesh is an odd one. At the same time both satisfying and horribly disturbing, the sinewy muscle fibers of the human body do not yield as easily as they are often romanced to give in stories. Flesh does not cleave, skin does not separate wildly. Storm felt the need to push the blade hard through a thick layer of muscle and meat, a vibrantly savage act. Even withdrawing the dagger was brutal, and the blood that spewed from the wound was random and burgundy brown. He was no stranger to the atrocious act of ravaging a fellow human, but a body simply does not grow used to such a sinister task.

Stepping back, the battered and brutalized conniver was both confused and scared. Letho surely had something up his sleeve, for Storm knew the man was any set of horrible things aside from weak. He was throwing the match, both too slow footed and predictable for the wiry mage to avoid dissecting. With a focused eye and a tenuous hop, he scrambled to make sense of it all.

Is this your retribution, you f*cking coward? Does this make up for taking my life, my reason to exist? My soul? Fight me like a man!

He flipped the blade in his right hand, gazing through squinted eyes as the crowd groaned again in disapproval. Ravenheart was all but finished at this point, laboring and blundering and leaning that massive physique towards the door of death. He was a dead man walking, a shadow of the beast he had once been. Lumbering with a pathetic overhead swing, Letho was finished. Storm pushed off his right leg, a simple pirouette that left him clear of the oncoming path of the blade. He was a step back as the mighty greatsword finished its descent, and a single shrill voice would come above all others.

”Letho, no!!! Don’t do this!

The sweat-slicked head of Storm whipped quickly to the noise, a flashing glance towards the impossible volume. The impossible call came from her, the one who he knew all too well. That same redhead that stood opposed to Veritas while her man led to the murder of the beautiful Selena. It was her, he acknowledged, and his head snapped back to focus on the massive barbarian just as quickly as it had left. Love was immaterial now to Storm; this was no time to let emotion cloud better judgment.

Don’t give him time to hash this out, and think about things. Strike now, before it’s too late. Remove the threat. Survive. Win.

Another lunge, and Storm snapped forth at his enemy. His left leg groaned in disapproval as he planted, and his hips turned violently to strike. The blade sailed ahead, firing at the killpoint. His dagger came with lethal intent this time, a swift strike at the heart. It was time to end this.

((OOC: Letho and I have arranged a bit of “closed” attacking for these few posts, so he’s “officially” allowed any non-lethal strike on Storm here.))