Something is deeply wrong. She steps down the shuttle, and immediately knows it. Every part of her is crying that this was a mistake, and the worst thing is she doesn't know [i]why[/i].

It's not the numbers, of course. She's more than a match for what's arrayed before them, and with a shield wall at her back, nothing could stop them. She could wish for a better choke point, the better to even the numbers, but Jas'o won't let them huddle in the ship, and huddling would not prevent him from chasing his prize. Nor is it the Aegis, dangling from one wrist. She's a master with a spear, shield or no. 

But there's still something--a prickling, crawling sensation--that cries for attention.

It's not important, she knows. Right now, in this moment, nothing matters but the figure across from her. The cries of wild beasts tearing apart shuttles, the town in the background (and her mind can't help but add a few exclamation marks to that), the moist earthen smells of loam and acrid tang of burning grass, all fade away.  All that's left is the groaning of maneuvering hoplites and the warm, reassuring grain of her spears under her fingers.

Jas'o and Alexa circle each other, eyes flitting and evaluating. That's a non-standard shield, she realizes. Smaller than regulation, probably to facilitate the easy drawing of the bow. He's accomplished enough with a Thunderbolt that he'd willingly diminish his defense in order to make it easier to use it. Confident in himself, then. And the scars running along his arm tell of years of practice.

"Do they know?" she barks, and follows it up with a quick, testing jab. His reflexes are good, she'll grant that--the raise of the shield is textbook flawless, as is the answering riposte. She bats it delicately aside with one brass-inlaid forearm, and takes the opportunity to push forward, inside the king's guard.

She's close. Close enough that the king can't easily withdraw his spear for a second thrust, but neither can she bring hers to bear. Close enough to the king that she can feel his breath hitch in his chest, and allows herself a small smile. That's right, Jas'o. It's easy to dismiss somebody as merely a statue until the statue is close enough for you to realize it's got a couple feet, two arms, and several hundred pounds on you.

One arm comes down like a vice, and locks the king's spear shaft against her torso. "They know you are willing to throw them away," she answers for him. "Willing to throw away your entire kingdom, all that you own, to achieve your goals."

Jas'o, at least, has to know what's coming. She's armed with a spear, yes, but immediately closed to a grapple. By the time her arms cannon out, Jas'o's already dropped his spear, whipped out his shortsword, and shoved it into her shoulder. It's agony, especially when the shove connects and sends reverberations shooting straight to where the sword pierces her, but the king staggers back bereft of both sword and spear.

"And here come a new set of warriors," she thunders, and shoves him further off balance with the butt of her spear. It's as much for the hoplites' benefit as for her own. See him fall back, retreat. This is your king, men. See him cower before the might of Athena's chosen, realize what he's done. See the executioner advance, relentless, sword in shoulder and not slowing her down at all. "Perfect, you think. An upgrade! Ceronians! A legend, before your eyes, if they can but be persuaded to join you."

Jas'o finally catches himself just in time to catch a spear thrust against his shield. "Of course, that means that the warriors you have are useless," she states, and lets the words hang in the air. "Outdated. What will you do with them, I wonder?"

The onslaught of spear on shield feels amazing. This is what she was made for! See, Jas'o, your futility? Your hubris? With every crack and thwack, Jas'o's panicked rictus grows, and her satisfaction grows with it. She's not even dedicating her full attention to him now, turning to distribute slashes at the phalanx behind him and lash out at spears that would hit her own men. Galnius and their men are professionals, but she's still better. No harm in protecting those under her. And she gets to see the rage on Jas'o's face at being so ignored during a duel

And yet… Somehow it still feels wrong. She's doing what she's been taught! She's putting Jas'o in his place! But somehow, as Jas'o cries and shakes a hand as one spear-butt whips out in a lightning-fast crack against his fingertips, she can't bring herself to finish him off.

It's what she should do! He is a threat to Redana. Bring him down, end him now, and he'll never threaten her again. Show no mercy, Alexa. Be brave. He's off his rhythm. It'd be simplicity itself to deliver the final blow, one massive stroke at neck level. She whips the spear around and…

She catches a glance of herself in Jas'o's panicked eyes. She's a vision of terror, of oncoming death, lethality personified.

…twists her wrist. It's not much, but the change in edge alignment is just enough to turn a lethal decapitation into a glancing slap. She'll be punished, of course. The Warsage's champion can be nothing less than perfect.

Come on, Jas'o. You're outmatched. Realize it, and surrender.  And for a second, when he throws the shield to the ground, she sighs in relief. Good. Good. We both get to live today.

But then the bow comes out, and time slows to a crawl. Of course he wouldn't surrender. Not here, not to her. Not to four hoplites and a statue, even of Athena. He nocks the arrow, lightning crackling in a slow-mo halo around its head, and the spear refuses to come around. The universe holds its breath, gods and humans alike watching with bated breath. The spear at last starts to rise, point first. This is it, the culmination of all of this! A man, bow raised, in thrusting range of a spear. Either way, the battle ends now.

And as the universe crawls along its treacle-laden path, she and Jas'o's eyes lock, and she finally realizes what's wrong. She can see herself in his eyes, but more than that, she can see Athena looking at him. Looking at him, instead of her.

And she sees the angle of the bow, and it's all wrong. He's not incompetent, she knows. All of his actions have spoken to years of training, of experience in dueling. He wouldn't throw away his shot like this, not with Athena herself witnessing. What is…?

She can hear the phalanx behind her, and the realization crashes through her that the angle is wrong because he's not aiming at her. She's given away far too much in this conversation, and as their eyes lock, she can see his lips curl up in a smirk. Show me, statue. Show me how you should treat your soldiers. It's a trivial affair, after all. You're defending them in the midst of a one-on-one duel.

You don't think you should throw away soldiers? Prove it.

And without hesitation, she turns and throws herself into the bolt.