Ephraim saw everything happen in an instant. A sword flashed in front of him, parrying the scythe. The next thing that he had seen are a bundle of golden threads instantaneously wrapping around the shaman's body. It's like he had seen it in a flash. Dayie now appeared before him, advancing to Jamil who clearly was taken aback. A necklace gleamed in Dayie's neck as she, in slow motion, thrust her blade forward.
The blade then found its way to Jamil's chest.
Jamil coughed blood as he fell to his knees. Dayie drew her long blade away and looked down at Jamil; her golden threads unwrapped as Jamil feel down flat to the ground.
"Wh-what…. This… this can't b-" Dayie, once again, thrust her blade down, straight to Jamil's hand.
"I'm not taking any chances." Dayie said as she kicked the scythe away.
"How…" He murmured.
"It seems like you didn't know," Dayie murmured, "I'm not a saint."
