Raychel was relatively tough and tenacious for someone of her experience, and her reflexes were not slow. Although this was the first time she had ever been wounded so terribly and she was greatly pained, she exhibited good self-control and did not panic. She had not given up and fully intended to continue fighting even with a wounded shoulder.
If she had been in a fair fight with a normal human opponent, she would have had time to do something after falling with the halberd. However, Raychel’s opponent apparently had astonishing powers of celerity. In less than a split second, he managed to let go of his polearm, pin her down, regrab his polearm, say something (his words flowed so fast that she could not understand what), and twist the polearm in a final coup de gras.
On the one hand, Raychel marveled at her opponent’s ability to break the space-time continuum. On the other, she detested his dishonor. The meaning of a just fight must have meant nothing to him. Why did people who could manipulate time like that even bother to enter a competition?
In Raychel’s dying moments, she spit blood into her opponent’s face. She hoped that word would spread far and wide of his abuse of power and disgrace him to the end of his days. She thought it more likely, however, that he and his comrade would leave the island after slaughtering Raychel and Lin, and spread tales of a heroic, glorious victory.
In Raychel’s last moment as the world was growing fainter to her, she stabbed at her opponent’s foot with her dagger. Not that it mattered- with the speed at which he moved, he had probably already run off, slaughtered Lin, taken a boat back to the mainland, and enjoyed an ale at the pub with his companion. And even if he hadn’t, it still didn’t matter to Raychel anymore, for the fight was now over for her: everything faded to black.