My boot struck Wulfenbraz a glancing blow. I heard the grind of metal on metal as his armor dented. "That should stop him from hopping around," I told myself triumphantly. But my foot glanced off the iron armor at an odd angle and I stumbled, forced to spin away rather than capitalize on the opportunity. By the time I regained my balance Wulfenbraz was coming out of a roll. I exploded like a sprinter off the blocks, racing towards him for a quick kill. The knight straightened up with snakelike speed, wielding the blade wildly.
"Shit."
I had forgotten the awesome length of the blade, and wielder's might. My feet ground to a halt, digging into the hard mats. I dove backwards as the weapon flashed towards me, rolling several times before coming to a halt in a compact crouch.
"Son of a bitch..."
A long diagonal gash stretched from the left side of my rib cage almost to my right shoulder. More of a scratch, really. Blood seeped from it slowly, slowly enough that it would clot long before I could bleed out. But it looked messy, it hurt, and it left my shirt a complete mess.
"Son of a bitch, I'm gonna' have to change my shirt. Ah well... at least he turned the damn sword off."
Inside the void my mind rested, calm as a monk. Outside the void, my body was pissed off. Doubly so; I felt angry towards Wulfenbraz for taking up my time and ruining my shirt, and angry towards myself for letting the sword touch me at all. My mind turned the fury into cold determination.
I imagined the octagonal room like a clock. If I treated the large double doors like twelve o'clock, my frantic rolling had brought me to the three o'clock position. Wulfenbraz stood almost exactly between me and the open doors. I saw his armor as a beacon, leading me to him. My right hand plucked the prevaldia bayonet from its sheath as I crept towards the enemy. The azure blade did not even whisper as it left the leather scabbard. My feet made even less noise, confident and quiet on the floor I knew so well. "In and out," I thought, [I]"strike quickly to a vital area. The armor should protect my clothes from the blood spatter. I stepped into striking range like a wraith, the dagger gripped tight by sore knuckles. I stabbed at the paladin's left thigh, making sure to use enough force to drive the point through the iron protection. At the end of the extension I pulled back quickly, hoping to slice an artery or leave Wulfenbraz's quadricep crippled.