The dramatically-named He Who Eats the Stars had sharp enough eyes to see what the Pharmacist had done. It had been a sort of dagger, dark gold and about seven inches long. Seven jewels were affixed to it, and they each glimmered with a strange light. The brightest was the first one, and with the dagger moving so quickly it almost looked like nothing more than a streak of light.
Right now, it was stopped in place about an inch from his nose. The air around him sizzled and a hundred thousand tiny daggers shimmered almost invisible in the air around him. He couldn’t move, he could hardly breathe. Any wrong move and those daggers could fall.
He took gasping breathes, and in a quavering voice said, “I-I concede!”
The Pharmacist lifted her hand, and the golden dagger obediently returned to her grasp. She walked away from the arena without a word.
