MISERY hated the way Kalyavan grinned. Hated this charade. This wasn’t some comedy play. A battle was going on for fuck’s sake! Was she the only one who remembered that the Greeks had breached the Iron Curfew? The Mathurans should have used this distraction to plug the hole. Instead, everyone had joined the Greeks to gawp at the fight, as if they had sauntered in for a feast. They were all bellowing like animals in a slaughterhouse.

Meanwhile, the two warriors circled each other again, eyeing an opening, weapons thrust high, feet pawing the mud. Misery had to admit the two were good. Really good. Kalyavan was wielding a longsword, but handled it like a rapier. He laughed as he picked up his left leg to deftly dodge a low cut of Satyabhama’s sword. Misery found nothing funny about any of it.

But then she saw something. A parry from Kalyavan that was just a wee bit late. She could see Kalyavan had grown sluggish. He was still attacking, but no longer feinting. Yet he still grinned, expertly blocking Satyabhama’s thrusts. How is he so fucking confident even when he is lumbering and panting?

In that moment it hit her. The prophecy Calm had told them about in the tent. It was the source of his strength. Not in some divine-cosmic-power way, but because it made him feel invincible. She looked at the stump where her arm should have been, and then at the axe she held in the other. Satyabhama had told her once that sometimes when you believe something strongly enough, you can will it to be true. That is how Misery had become a soldier. Kalyavan was the same. His strength lay in his overconfidence. His power lay in the belief his soldiers had in him. Time to fucking shatter it.

WO-MAN! WO-MAN! she began to chant at the top of her voice as she tapped her shield rhythmically. She saw Rain look at her, her face as hard as stone. Misery met her eyes, and nodded. Rain understood.

WOMAN! WOMAN! WOMAN! Rain repeated it, louder. The chant spread like a plague amongst the Wolves. Kalyavan paused momentarily to listen, then his eyes widened only the slightest as he understood the implication. His grin vanished, and he raced towards Satyabhama, as if to outrun his doubts. I knew it. Misery flinched at the flash of steel, but clung to her cheers as if her life depended on it. For Kalyavan’s prophecy boasted that no man could kill him.

But Satyabhama was no man.