[A/N: Read the author's note at the bottom.]
***
Dominique's swords danced through the air as she moved around the battlefield as if it were made for her. Each strike was precise, calculated to inflict maximum damage while conserving her energy.
Despite the overwhelming numbers, she moved like a specter among the bald monks, her presence barely registered until her swords had already struck.
Around her, the battlefield was a chaotic mess. The bald monks, driven by zealotry, attacked with a fervor that was almost admirable. However, their blind faith and lack of strategic thinking made them predictable, easy targets for Dominique's practiced blade.
As she fought, Dominique's mind was clear, like a still lake of blood. She had long since learned to channel her emotions into her combat, transforming any fear or anger into a cold, deadly calm. Each enemy that fell before her only empowered her further.
