[B]"Feisty one, she," the witch said, barely flinching from the girl's attempts to inflict injury."And yet none will save her; because chivalry is long since dead."
[/B]

"Damn you, witch!," Khaylan shouted, freeig his sword from its sheath at last. There might be no love lost between him and Miranda, but he would rather be damned than watch this witch victimize someone else. "She has nothing to do with this. You want me."

The witch however, had something in mind. Even as Khaylan tried to approach, she drove her impossibly sharp fingernails into Miranda's shoulder.[B]"The blood in this wench's veins will be your undoing, Khaylan,"[/b] she said, and words of power echoed from her throat, the flowing blood dripping to the ground and forming some sort of symbol that Khaylan had never seen before. He took a step forward, his sword raised, ready to end this once and for all when the spell's power overtook him.

He writhed in agony as the powerful curse began to take shape, the blood flowing from the magical symbol up his boots, legs, and onto his chest. The blood seeped through his vest, ruining the fabric, but what was even more concerning was the symbol it began to draw on Khaylan's chest. His sword clattered to the ground, his mind so full of pain he couldn't even control his own body. The blood felt more like silver that had been heated to its melting point and poured onto his bare flesh.

He screamed. For how long, he didn't know. He only knew that the moment the witch ceased casting her spell, his vision began to blur and fade. And the last thing he heard before losing consciousness wasthe sound of her grating laughter.