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Rage

With the dawn, breaking over the hillsides of the field, came the first stirrings of the stench of metal and the sounds of war’s past day. Cyrus woke up to see Agnes marching towards the battlefield like a woman possessed a frown etched on her face.

"Agnes, wait!" Cyrus called out to her again, but she acted as if she didn’t hear him. She acted like a woman with a mission and she had a look of wrath in her eyes that could strike a frost on his spine.

“You won’t get away with this Agnes,” Cyrus warned but the woman merely glared at him and shook her head. "This ends today."

Cyrus put out his hand to touch her arm, but she jerked herself free from him, a force he did not expect from her. He understood she wanted to kill him, her grief had been replaced by the lust for his blood. It was now impossible to persuade her to do a particular thing.

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In the field, Agnes was as harsh a woman as any soldier could ask for. She attacked with the rage of a warrior who had nothing left to lose
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