Belted at the side of her calf-length dress was her sword. As the crowd watched in confusion, she drew it. Traceries of reddish-bronze

Lightning swept up and down its length.

"You..." Kincaid choked on the words. The tatters of his suit draped his body in ragged remnants.

“You can't be here. You're supposed to be in her head!!" He cast a vicious, malevolent glare up at the balcony, where Rachel was watching, her face carved of stone.

“I got out. It wasn't hard." Her eyes gleamed with mischief. "ALL it took was the power of love. But you wouldn't know about that, would you? You have no idea how great a force Love is, when all you know is hatred and destruction.

"You are a monstrosity, Kincaid. But your existence is not your fault.

Submit and surrender to my justice, and I will make your passing an easy one."

Kincaid Laughed through a mouth like broken glass. Several members of the audience shrieked as the hideous noise smote their ears. From a sheath which had been hidden on his back he drew a sword of his own.

Light seemed to fall into it, and Maria turned her eyes away in painful reflex. "I'll see you in Hell first, bitch!"

“Perhaps.” The succubus’ voice was faintly regretful.

“Then let it begin." As she spoke, her wings caught fire, burning with a pure golden Light that illuminated the stage.

For the rest of his life, Jeremy never forgot that duel. He had seen many swordfights in the movies, from Star Wars to The Princess

Bride to Luthien's Tale. Most were forgettable. Some acceptable. A few were even good.

Nothing prepared him for the sight of Althea in battle. She flowed effortlessly from one position to the next, her sword striking golden and black sparks from Kincaid's dark blade. She kept her body between

Alex and her enemy as easily as another person might draw breath. Every attack the demon-spawn made was foiled with contemptuous ease, every stroke shrugged away with a twist of her hips or a flick of her wrists.

Kincaid lunged forward, his sword whistling high while he jabbed at her unprotected belly with his dagger. Quicker than thought, she took a half-step backward, keeping the dagger out of reach, and parried the sword viciously, making it ring like an out-of-tune bell. As Kincaid staggered back, she pressed her advantage, her sword whirling in a series of curving cuts.

And she was drawing blood. A myriad of small slices scored Kincaid's grotesque body, and dark ichor dripped from his body to stain the stage. Even as they watched, she landed another blow, her sword blurring upward, opening a wound that ran from his left hip to his right breast.

But she was not immune from damage herself. As their swords clashed, sparks flashing, a thin shard broke off of Kincaid's sword and slashed across her cheekbone. Althea lost the rhythm of her defense, and two more bloody cuts appeared as Kincaid pressed his advantage; a small gouge on her left arm and a deep slice on the muscle of her right thigh. Jeremy heard Rachel hiss in painful dismay as red blood dripped down Althea's face and leg, marring her golden skin. Clutching the railing at the front of the balcony, she stood up, Joshua and Sarah beside her. As their view was blocked, he, Maria, and Yasna stood up in turn. Soon, the entire balcony, then the entire theater, was on its feet, waiting as breathlessly as a baseball crowd in extra innings at a playoff game.

“Spawn of the Fallen," Kincaid hissed as their swords Locked together.

“Unholy offspring of a cursed union. Disgusting creature, spreading your legs for any human who wants you. How can you Live with what you are?"

“I am as the Almighty made me," she replied serenely. The muscles of her arms bunched, keeping the jagged blade away from her vulnerable throat. With a shrug of her shoulders, she broke away, sending Kincaid staggering back.

When the end came, it was quick. On a lunge, Kincaid overextended himself, going the slightest bit off balance. Althea's sword flashed downward, cutting his sword-hand off at the wrist. As he lurched forward, shrieking in agony, she spun, her blade cutting the tendons at the back of his thigh, hamstringing him. He crashed to the ground, and she severed his spine, her sword punching down between his vertebrae in a two-handed grip as the crowd gasped.

Althea moved around so she could kneel down and look him in the eye, avoiding his thrashing claws, which still strove to harm her, although his legs were utterly still.

“Any Last words before I send you back to the Pit?" Rather than being mocking, she sounded utterly serious.

Perhaps even the slightest bit pitying.