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The Games that Gods Play	By : Ristul Category: DC Verse Comics > Wonder Woman Views: 16896 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Wonder Woman,nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 11
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- 13
Choose this path, one without cheering crowds, showers of medals, monetary rewards enough to live out the rest of your life in comfort. There is only a promise of pain, blood, and tears. You will be considered by others to be a fool, a charlatan, a madman. You will face foes beyond reckoning, every time outgunned, outnumbered, and outmatched. You will be buried in an unmarked grave if you are lucky, your carcass fed to the vultures if you are not. There will be no happy ever after for you.
There is no shame in closing this book and walking away, but if you think you have got what it takes, read on and change your life for the worse.
-Book of Paths
“Something’s different,” the demonlord looked up as he rode at the head of the long column of the hellish army marching behind him. “The air tastes… different.” He stroked his chin with a red scaly finger, trying to place where he had felt that particular sensation before. A certain premonition, perhaps?
“Sir?” One of his lieutenants asked. A sniveling example of a demon, competent with a weapon at least. Good at sucking up and fighting, but lousy at everything else.
“Oh nothing.” The demonlord waved it off. “It’s probably nothing.”
“From reports by our seers, the humans have organized a force at Forssul, and are prepared to block our advance.” The lackey seemed worried by the prospect.
The demonlord laughed, the horns on his head shaking with mirth, “Listen to yourself, fool! We have more demon troops than we will ever need in our army. How many warriors do you think they could muster? Not more than a thousand, I wager you.”
“But what of the Lady Troy? She is said to be unbeatable in combat! And since she arrived here scarcely more than a year ago, the sheep are slowly becoming wolves!”
Pastroc grinned, baring his fangs. “Which is why I’m here. She will oppose our advance at Forssul, and once there, I shall kill her and break their spirits. And then we can claim this dimension for our own purposes once and for all time!” His smile grew wider, as he spied the tall spires of the lost city of Forssul poking up over the horizon.

Donna Troy sat on the mat beside the man they had found in the lost city of Forssul. His hands were tied behind his back, as were his feet, since they did not know if he was friend or foe. But she could somehow sense that he was not an enemy.
“Urghhh…” the man groaned, and Donna reflexively placed a hand on his forehead. No fever. He has a strong constitution. Her people had forced water past his lips, and he had drank quite a bit already. The man should regain consciousness any time now.
She was about to get up and leave the tent when he suddenly opened his eyes. They stared at each other, until his eyes grew wide with recognition as he choked out through dry lips, “Wait a minute!”
He managed to push himself up, and continued to stare at her. Donna decided to ask, “Why are you staring at me like that?”
He swallowed several times, obviously working up saliva. “I’ve seen you before. The last time I saw you, you were lying, uhm, unconscious on a stone platform somewhere south of Buenos Aires. What are you doing here?” He seemed to be lying in some parts, some of it was ridiculous, but he also seemed to believe much of it.
She frowned, “I have no idea what you are talking about. I do not know of this place Buenos Aires you speak of, and neither was I unconscious. Furthermore,” she stabbed a finger at him, “I have never seen you before!”
He winced at her accusing tone, “Well, I could be mistaken,” then he looked at her intently again, as though studying her, “But I’m sure I’m not.”
Donna felt puzzled herself. She could feel that he was telling the truth, or at least the truth as he saw it. The person he saw could not be her, could it? Or more importantly, what did he see?
It wasn’t important. She decided to take a different tack. “What is your name?” She removed her own water skin flask from her belt, and raised it to his lips.
He swallowed the liquid eagerly, then licked his lips dry before answering, “Gawain Sharpe. And you?”
She smiled slightly, “I’m Donna Troy. So, Gawain, what were you doing here in the lost city of Forssul?”
He looked a bit lost, “Huh?”
She explained slowly, as though to a child, “We found you here in one of the city streets unconscious on the ground.”
He blinked in surprise, “I don’t remember a city. But then again, I was almost out of it. I had been crossing the desert for several days already.”
She nodded. The concept of days were not unknown even in this sunless land(though she suspected the concept of a sun was just another fragment of her scattered memories). And if he was telling the truth, which she believed he was, then he was just another person who had ended up in this strange land, much like her and so many others.
Since eons ago, when the first people somehow entered this world, not exactly sure of who they were and what they had done, they and their descendents had been dealing with the demons that plagued their lands. Additional immigrants like her boosted their numbers, but by and large they had been ground under the iron boot heel of the demons for centuries.
After she arrived, Donna had fought off one pack of wandering demons after another, which gradually brought her to the attentions of a city council which desired freedom from its demonic landlords, ever desiring more blood sacrifices and tribute. She had raised a small army, beating off the occupying demons, and formalizing the alliances between the various towns and cities in the land.
When word came of a massive force approaching the newly formed nation of Vassa, she had argued for a force to be sent out to delay the army while Vassa mobilized its own manpower for a real army. Despite the objections of the council members, she had placed herself in command of the small force, which barely numbered three hundred hastily trained warriors, both male and female.
And here was a traveler, a newcomer from the looks of it, who might be friend or foe. Donna hated to think this of another person, but there had been traitors to the cause found before, willing to betray their friends to the demons for selfish gains. He might very well be another.
She started talking to him again. “And what were you doing before you found yourself in the desert?”
“I was busy fighting off an evil sorceress bent on killing me. Then something went wrong, there was a bright explosion, and poof! I was here.” He grimaced, testing his bonds, “Look, can somebody explain to me what’s going on? And why am I tied up? Where are my guns?”
He remembers his past before coming here? She was about to reply when a voice from outside the tent. “Demons! They are approaching!”
Donna quickly got up and sprinted way out of the tent.

Gawain stared after her, not quite sure what was going on. He was still more than a little dazed by this turn of events. He had been sure the same Donna Troy who had talked to him was also the same woman on the dais in the mansion. And there was the pale sorceress. What did she say?
“Besides, I only needed your magical colors to draw back Troy’s soul, not the actual amount of energy itself!”
Gawain pondered the statement. Could the two women be twins to explain the likeness? Or even more incredibly, that the Donna Troy who spoke to him was only the disembodied soul? And this dimension some weird tesseract for soul storage? Considering what he had seen, it wasn’t too farfetched.
She sure didn’t look disembodied to me! Gawain grinned as he allowed himself to enjoy the view from behind when she had run out of the tent. Her rear was something he would have paid money to watch.
He could hear a flurry of activity outside the tent, more voices shouting. He didn’t know why everybody was speaking in English, but he could care less, as long as he understood them. And from the looks of things, there… was… something… about… He strained his ears, trying to catch more snippets. Something about a demonic army at the gates?
“Crap.” It never rains. It pours.
He had to get free first. His hands were tied with rope behind his back, but getting free was simple as one-two-three. He leaned his torso over his legs, reducing the distance between his shoulders and his butt. Then he managed to move the ropes below his butt and then below his legs. Drawing up his legs allowed him to bring his hands to his front.
He started chewing frantically on the ropes on his wrists, and it wasn’t long before he managed to free his hands, and then his legs. He stood up and stretched for a bit, working out the kinks in his muscles from being tied up for too long. And another few sips of water from a basin nearby, which seemed as though it was for washing. But he couldn’t care less. He was still thirsty.
Now, where are my weapons? He looked about his own body. Sure enough, that annoying metal triangle still hung by his side, no matter how many times he had tried throwing it away. He looked at it accusingly. You can teleport from anywhere back to me, but you still can’t bring me anywhere. Traitor.
Gawain took a peek out of the tent, to find the small camp devoid of people. He crept out to get a better look, and saw many people gathered on the top of some holed and battered walls. A sturdy wooden door, newly constructed from the looks of it, barred the gate which he vaguely remembered stumbling through.
They also seemed very nervous, from the looks of things. A few were holding bows, pointing them down. There was no sign of Donna.
He started rummaging through the various tents, looking for his weapons. It was only when he was searching through his fourth tent that he managed to find his weapons, all gathered in one spot. He checked his M16, and groaned at the sight. The interior surface was covered with fine sand after a week in the desert without maintenance, and getting it out would be a real pain. He quickly stripped the weapon, then used a nearby cloth to wipe off as much of the sand as possible. There was no oil to lubricate the parts, he’d have to depend on luck to prevent a jam. But at least the sand was out.
He ran out of the tent with the rifle, along with three magazines that he had managed to clean. He had a feeling he should not tarry long.
Now where should I go? He asked himself as he looked at the nervous warriors lining the wall palisades. Obviously not there. He was supposed to be a prisoner, and it wouldn’t do to have… complications at this sensitive stage.
Then he saw a tall spire overlooking the walls, and a flight of stairs leading up to the top. That seems a good bet. Probably a good shooting position. Not too far, I hope. I can get down pretty quickly too.
He sprinted up the stairs, emerging from the stairs to behold an amazing sight. In front of the gates, a sole warrior from their side was fighting off a misshapen demon, in between the largely empty space between the walls and the massive demonic army gathered over the desert sands like a plague of ants. Her movements were graceful yet powerful, and even at this distance he could see that her sword was covered with the blood of the demons. He brought his M16 up, and used the scope to have a closer look.
Donna? He could identify the warrior now, and she was clearly Donna Troy. He felt a painful kick in his stomach when he realized that despite her skill and strength, she had been wounded. Blood seeped through the cloth on her right arm, and trickled down the calves of her left leg. There were bodies of several dead demons around her, obviously the casualties of the duels she had been fighting. He could understand why the warriors were worried now, but he couldn’t quite understand why they were engaging in such duels in the first place.
Nevertheless, Gawain pulled back the handle on the M16, loading a round from the magazine into the breech. Then he released the handle, which snapped back with a satisfying sound. He thumbed the selector switch from safe to semi-auto, and raised the M16 to his eyes, slowly tracking the next demon to approach her.

Donna winced as she stood before the horde of demons, feeling weaker than she had ever before. The demons she had killed were stronger and more skilled than the ones she had fought when she first arrived. These were undoubtedly the elite of their brood. Despite her strength and skill, it had taken her everything to win out over those first five demons. She could lift weights beyond normal men, and her reflexes were also faster, but the demons were also faster and stronger.
Blood loss and the intensity of the previous fights had sapped her once prodigious strength, and Donna wasn’t sure if she could beat them all now, especially with the sheer speed at which the demons challenged her, not allowing her a single respite. Their leader, a huge demon sitting atop an equally gigantic demonic steed, looked as though he already knew the outcome.
No, I must hang on! If their entire army throws itself at the city, we’ll fall in a single day! I must delay them for as long as possible! She gritted her teeth as she saw her next opponent emerge from the deep ranks of demons.
It had been a serious miscalculation on their part. Nobody had ever expected such a massive force to be mustered and tossed at them within weeks of the successful revolt. In any case, she had sent a rider back to Vassa to inform them of the new developments. Meanwhile, she would try to hold Forssul for as long as she could.
Donna did not know why the enemy demons indulged her in this dueling, but she could guess. They wanted her to fall, to be defeated and killed, in sight of her warriors. That alone would deal their already shaky morale a grievous blow, and Forssul would fall without much of a fight.
The one facing her had bright green, almost fluorescent skin. He was quite a bit taller than her, and heavily muscled like the rest of them. In his hands was a long and wickedly curved halberd, and the way he moved left her with no doubt that he could use it, and use it well. His reach would be a difficult obstacle to overcome.
Donna moved into a combat stance, and the demon grinned at her. There was no need for words.
He was about to swing his halberd in a first attack against her when there was a loud and sudden bang. The demon stared at her blankly for a few moments before falling over, a hole in what was formerly his nose and whatever was in his head splattered down his back.
“Treachery! Get them!” A demon shouted, and the demonic army suddenly surged forward. Donna leapt back desperately slashing with her swords at the onrushing mass of demons.
There were several more loud bangs, and more demons fell. Donna fought whoever was within reach of her blade, and killed several demons. Still they came on forward, though wary of her blade and the thunder from above that killed them where they stood.
“Archers, fire!” She heard Craddock shout, and a light rain of arrows fell upon the demons, further killing their forward momentum. Their forward progress was also impeded by the bodies of the dead demons on the ground, and it soon ground to a halt.
“Back! Back!” Somebody in their rear shouted. The demons started inching back, while the thunder continued, claiming one demon after another before finally falling silent. They formed up in ranks again, impassively facing the city.
Donna chanced a glance back at the city, and saw a glint of metal off a tall spire. She focused her eyesight, and spotted Gawain Sharpe holding a smoking metal tube in his hands.
“So,” their demon overlord shouted, “this is the way you want it?” He stabbed a finger at Gawain, “Using weapons which kill at a distance? Very well then. We shall retreat for now, and let the bodies of my failed minions disappear. Tomorrow, we shall be back, and there’ll be no more duels! I’d advise you to dig graves for yourselves, because we won’t do it for you!” He turned his nightmarish steed away, and so did his army.
Donna sighed with relief. Then she looked back at Gawain, and the blinding rage and despair which came over her was almost impossible to contain.

“You idiot! You fool of a stupid man!“ Donna Troy screamed at him. “Gawain Sharpe, do you know what you’ve done?”
What’s she so mad about? “Yes, I know what I did. I think I just saved our life.” He continued cleaning his M16, not daring to look up despite his nonchalant reply.
She cast a shadow over him, and he decided to risk a look upwards.
SLAP! He fell off the crate he had been sitting on, tumbling to the ground. He rubbed his jaw and stinging cheek with his left hand, wondering how and why she could slap him so hard his teeth felt knocked out. It would not have felt so bad if they were alone, but their conversation was also being watched by her troops.
“Those duels was meant to buy us time! Did you see how many demons they had?” Donna raged at him. “If they all came at us today, we’d have been dead!”
“But they did try after I played dirty with the first demon, and we did beat them back.” He stood himself up, facing her squarely but calmly. “And he looked as though he could have you for lunch if I hadn’t intervened.”
“I can take care of myself!” She spun around as if to walk away.
Gawain caught her wrist, “Then you should also know how many people are relying on you. Dammit, you know it as well as I do. These warriors of yours are barely trained, and they certainly can’t sustain a siege for long. But if you fall, then they definitely won’t fight. I’ve seen it before.” He looked around at them as though for somebody to challenge his insulting claim, but none of them did so. Damn, it’s worse than I thought. They aren’t even going to try to correct me!
She said. “Then pray tell me, oh mighty warrior,” her tone was dry and sarcastic, “how would you go about holding this city?”
He looked at her, and sighed, “Okay, okay. I agree, we need to buy time. But duels went out of vogue sometime in the past few centuries when guns became the in-thing. I never saw the logic behind two armies marching up to each other to yell at each other and wave their weapons in the air before engaging in close combat. I would have asked for archers, a whole lot more archers than that small group you have, the better to kill those demons at a distance from the wall before they can kill you. Then it wouldn’t matter how many troops they have, because you’ll be littering the ground in front of the wall with so many bodies they can’t get over them.”
“Dishonorable.” A warrior commented. “How do we demonstrate our courage, our honor?”
“Honor is not in my vocabulary.” Gawain countered. He held up two fingers, “I know only two words in battle. Victory, and defeat. Nothing else matters. Besides, I saw how courageous all of you were when Miss Troy here was facing that last bruiser.” That made their bravado melt away as quickly as it had appeared.
Donna interjected, “Even if you’re right, we simply don’t have those archers you wanted. So what would you do now?”
That made Gawain sit back down on the crate. He was silent for a while, his mind racing through the various dirty tricks he had seen in a lifetime’s worth of dirty tricks. Empty city ploy? Nah, the enemy will just scout it out first. Try to sneak in their camp and kill their boss? Doesn’t work with an army this big.
He eventually scratched his head and muttered glumly, “Fine. We stick to the duels… But!” He held up a hand. Donna’s too important. For some reason, she is their pillar of strength. Risking her in duels is far too dangerous.
He finished his sentence, sure that he had everybody’s attention. “Miss Troy won’t be fighting. I’ll fight.”
“What makes you think they’ll go back to dueling after that stunt you pulled?” Donna asked.
“Oh, don’t worry. I know just the way.” He smiled. He explained his plan to them, only to have Troy object.
She said, “No, it’s too risky.”
“Better than nothing.” He picked up his M16 from the ground, and started cleaning the interior barrel, removing sand which would affect the rifling.
She finally nodded, “Fine. We do it your way.” Her visage softened as she held a hand up to his reddened cheek, the action somehow soothing the pain there. “And I’m sorry for losing control.”
“It’s okay.” He smiled, “Though this is the first time I’ve been slapped by a beautiful woman without getting any enjoyment out of it first.” He pasted on his most seductive smile on his face, and Donna Troy suddenly blushed.
“I…” she seemed about to say more, but then she changed her mind, and started walking away. “I have things to do. I’ll see you again after Rest.” ‘Rest’ was the native’s term for night, since the perpetual light made the term moot.
“Good Rest.” He nodded, then sighed in disappointment. Just my luck to meet the most beautiful girl I have ever seen and be stuck in this hellhole about to die. Story of my life.

Pastroc dug in his heels, spurring his night-mare forward. All around him was his massive army, a horde of demons eager to tear the impudent humans from limb to limb. There would be no more duels. He would throw his army at the gates, smash them down, claim the lost city, then march on to Vassa, destroying all in their path.
“Stop!” The front ranks halted two hundred meters away from the squalid looking walls, forming neat tidy rows. The ground, previously blanketed by the bodies of dead demons, was now clear. After some time, the bodies of killed demons would disappear, rapidly decomposing into nothing. Here, it was a decided advantage for him, otherwise trying to even get to the walls would have been impossible due to unsteady footing caused by the corpses.
The demonlord narrowed his red burning eyes. Donna Troy and another figure stood in front of the gates.
“Tell me, foolish woman, do you wish to die against the might of my demons?” He smiled.
“No, but I offer my apologies for yesterday.” She grabbed the man standing beside her, and pushed him forward. “This is the man responsible. He used firearms, a technological device which only he knows how to operate, to kill your men. As penance, he shall duel your officers. And by this, I hope we can get back to waging honorable war.”
The man beside her looked tall and strong, but his body language showed clearly his fear. His facial expressions were highly amusing, and he seemed reluctant to move forward as she shoved him towards Pastroc’s army.
“By duels, you mean.” Pastroc smiled lazily, “Very well then. After this fool is disposed of.” He looks like he can’t fight without a gun. Should be an easy kill, and after that… He smiled as he saw the bandages on Donna Troy. Time to go in for the kill.
He nodded to Enusk, one of his strongest demons, and whispered softly, “Tear that fool apart, then defeat Donna Troy. I also want you to rape her, then kill her in sight of her warriors. That should make all but the strongest of them run in fear.”
Meanwhile, the doors of the gate had opened a bit, enough for Donna Troy to slip past. The man turned back towards the door, and ran toward it, but it closed before he got there. He banged his fists on them for a while, before turning back to see Enusk approaching slowly. Enusk was slightly smaller than most demons, but he made up for that in speed and skill. Indeed, he was the best fighter in Pastroc’s army, next to Pastroc himself. The demonlord always thought he was lucky Enusk never grew a useful brain, or else his own position could be usurped.
The hapless man, apparently not knowing what else to do, started walking forward. Then he suddenly tripped over a rock and fell face first onto the ground. Pastroc started laughing, and his demons laughed along with him, their mirth rumbling across the wide desert. He could see the worry on the faces of the puny humans. Had they not thrown this useless morsel out simply to prolong their own lives?
The man peeled himself off the ground, and staggered towards Enusk. His motions were jerky, uncoordinated. Even Enusk was laughing as he drew his swords, two long scimitars which he could use with blinding speed. “Draw your sword, useless whelp!”
The man blinked uncomprehendingly at Enusk for several seconds, and the demon had to swing his own sword several times before the man suddenly understood, putting a hand on the hilt of the sword in its scabbard attached to his belt. He tried pulling the sword out…
And somehow got stuck. The sword came out slightly, the metal blade peeking out a bit. He put both hands on the sword and tried to pull it out, but it stayed stuck. He pulled so hard he spun round and almost tumbled to the ground.
Many demons in his army were already doubling up with uncontrollable laughter at the comedic scene. Pastroc shook his head, laughing all the while. Demons were not supposed to feel pity, but he certainly felt pity towards this fool of a man, who even now tumbled unsteadily towards Enusk, his sword still stuck in his scabbard.
Pastroc commanded, “Put this fool out of his misery!”
“As my lord commands!” Enusk stepped forward at exactly the same time as the man, bringing one long scimitar up and around in a move that would decapitate the man with a single, swift blow.
Then Pastroc suddenly caught a cold, calculating gleam in the human’s eyes, and the faintest hint of a smile on his face. Could it be… He hollered, “Watch out, it’s a trick!”
Enusk swung down, but the man suddenly rolled forward onto the ground in a blinding move, avoiding the vicious swing and coming up with his own sword sliding easily out of its scabbard and slashing right across Enusk’s neck. He finished the move, coming up into a combat stance, his sword at the ready.
Enusk stood motionless for a moment before collapsing to the ground. There was no more laughter from the demons, only stunned shock. The humans, strangely enough, were in similar silence. The speed and accuracy of the move was incredible.
The human took up one of the scimitars, then looked at Pastroc. He cocked his head to one side, and smirked, “Who’s next?”
“Yarghhhhh!” One demon charged forward, and the human went into some spinning move that was almost impossible to track. The demon slashed at him, but the human simply parried the blow, using the demon’s own momentum against him, and followed up with another move that killed the demon, a stab through its head.
“Who are you?” Pastroc asked.
“Gawain Sharpe. Just a simple soldier.” The human replied easily, flicking demon ichor from the blades with a twist of his wrists.
“Then, Gawain Sharpe, you shall die now.” Pastroc signaled with a clawed hand, and another demon advanced forward, his pounding feet shaking the ground. He still had many demons, and they would kill this annoying impudence. If nothing else, it would be good entertainment.

Gawain gasped for breath, his mouth open and tongue hanging out like a dog, leaning over with his weapons still in his hands, his clenched fists resting on his knees as he tried to recover his breath. Sweat streamed down his face, dripping down onto the sandy ground. His present opponent looked at him warily, not willing to be taken in by his exhausted stance. A demon two duels back had fallen for just such a ploy as he feigned tiredness.
Still, he was really aching all over, from near blows to attacks that actually took a small piece of him. He had killed only about 8 demons, less than half the number Donna had killed the previous day, and he was already wiped. The demons were all inhumanly strong, and he had not been able to effectively block strength for strength against even their weakest blows, but Donna had managed it. That made him suspect she wasn’t a normal human. He could only parry and dodge, and he knew that sooner or later he’d slip up and be just that fraction too slow.
Still, the whole ploy was only to buy time, and using Donna to buy that time had been too dangerous. He, however, was completely disposable. Hence this entire crazy plan of his to stall the siege. With his life.
“Gawain, let me fight now!” Donna’s worried voice drifted to him from over the walls, loud enough for him but soft enough not for the demon to pick it up.
He shook his head slightly. He had to hold on for as long as he could. He would not let Donna place herself and the entire defense in jeopardy. He did not know why, but another reason for that was because he couldn’t bear to see her hurt.
Hell of a time to get sentimental, Sharpe, he told himself as the demon finally worked up a plan and bore down at him. Even if she was the most perfect woman you’ve ever seen in your whole fucking life.
He ducked the first swing, and his replying stab was blocked. He twisted his body away in time to avoid another slash, and as he moved away, he flung his scimitar at the demon’s knees. The blade slipped past the demon’ desperate parry and cut through its knee, and Gawain took advantage of his opponent’s hindered mobility to spin behind him.
He had to place both hands on the hilt of his sword to even punch the blade through the demon’s thick armor.
Gawain turned back to see yet another demon running at him, when suddenly he felt something around his body. Rope? What the heck?
Then he was suddenly dragged backwards as the front ranks of the demon army started charging forward. Gawain looked up to see Donna pulling him from her position on top of the wall. Wow, she could lasso me at that kind of distance?
Then he was being pulled up into the air, while arrows started to fall on the demons. But without his M16 to help out, the weight of the demonic army was pushing damn close to the walls.
“Throw me my gun!” He yelled up at Donna. Craddock appeared, and tossed his M16 at him, along with a belt with his magazines.
“Thanks!” Gawain shouted gratefully, grabbing the items while still being pulled up by Donna. He started shooting wildly. His shots were not very accurate, as he was swinging slightly in midair while being pulled up by Donna’s rope. The pressure around his waist didn’t help.
Then he was up on top of the wall, and Donna was able to take out her own bow and start shooting. With a more stable footing, his accuracy went up as well.
The demons kept on coming, but the same problems which plagued them the previous day haunted them again. Bodies were beginning to stack up, and the footing was again atrocious.
The M16’s breech slammed empty again, and Gawain reached down for another magazine when he realized in horror that he had finished all his available ammo. But the demons were already turning back, and the archers were still firing arrows into their midst. The battle for the day was done.
“I think that is enough for now, yes?” the demonlord in command yelled at them, and Gawain could see that the big bastard was smiling. “But why is it that I don’t hear any more from your rifle, Gawain Sharpe? Have you run out of bullets?”
Gawain clenched his fists. The bastard knows, dammit! I hate fighting demons, especially the smart ones.

Donna looked at Gawain as he shook his head, “I have no more bullets. But at least we’ve beaten them back again.” Gawain and his gun was all that had enabled them to beat back the demons, duel or no duel. Still, he had bought them more time, as he had promised.
“I am surprised, Lady Troy,” the demon shouted at them, “that you had managed to find a Kessanalt. But trust me, he will not change the final outcome of this battle.” The demon army stirred slightly at the strange word mentioned.
“A what?” Donna asked in puzzlement.
The demon did not reply to her question. Instead he announced, “There will be no more duels. Tomorrow, I shall sup on your blood!”
She was about to reply when Gawain spoke first, speaking very calmly, “Not before I drink yours first. It’s a promise.”
The demonlord stared at him, and then started laughing, and Gawain laughed back. The two laughed together like two crazed men, and Donna saw tears of laughter on Gawain’s face. Everybody else just looked plain shocked.
The demon saluted him, “I admire your insane courage, Kessanalt! And a warrior’s death shall I grant to you tomorrow!” He kicked his steed, and it turned away and moved into the distance, while the demon continued to laugh heartily.
Then the demon army left, and Donna saw her warriors all slump with relief. Some of them stared at Gawain, who was still doubled over with laughter.
“Gawain, are you all right?” She asked worriedly. What is he laughing about anyway? What is so funny?
“Eh, I’m okay, I’m okay.” He shook his head ruefully, the mirth draining out of him, and slung his useless rifle over his shoulder. “Well, Miss Troy, looks like tomorrow is going to be one heck of a battle.”
They started moving down a flight of steps down the wall. She asked, “What is a Kessanalt?”
“Nothing which matters,” replied Gawain. “Kessanalt…” he barked out a bitter laugh, “Hah! It’s just another synonym for the terms ‘idiot’ and ‘fool’.”
“And you’re an idiot and a fool? I find that hard to believe.”
“Changed your mind already? You called me all that yesterday.” He grinned at her embarrassment. “Why did you pull me off the duel? I thought we agreed that I was to fight on as long as possible?”
“You would have died,” Donna said softly, “And it would have been a loss of a good warrior we needed.”
And before he could answer that, she added, “And you had fought on long enough. Did you realize you had dragged out the duels to about the same time as I did?”
He protested, “I killed far less.”
“You spent more time for each fight, true, but you fought long enough.”
He faced her squarely. They were now at the camp, surrounded by tents while the other warriors prepared their last meal of the day before Rest.
“Miss Troy, I appreciate the thought, but when you pulled me off, that made the enemy commander decide not to continue the dueling at all. No matter what we do tomorrow, he’ll be coming at us with his full force.”
She sighed, “What choice did I have? It was either we allow you to die, and hope he stuck to the rules which did not really favor him, or pull you off and save you for the battles ahead. Besides, I…” she took a deep breath, “really did not want to see you die.”
He reached for her hands, and clasped them gently, his tone oddly formal, “My lady, I am a mere soldier. No better and perhaps worse than any of the others here. I am expendable.”
She looked at him, and realized that their faces were very close. She could feel his warm breath on her face, and his eyes were thoughtful. She wanted to pull away, but realized that she didn’t want to. She whispered softly, “Perhaps you’re expendable to others, but not to me.”
Then they kissed, and the sensation rushing through their bodies was electric. She savored the warmth of his mouth, the gentle caress of his hands on her body as her own hands were released. She roamed her hands over his body, feeling his lean muscles and the corded toughness of his back. She could feel the heat from his groin, and the feeling of his tool slowly caressing her thighs through his pants.
A gasp suddenly made them draw away, somewhat embarrassed by their public display of affection. They turned to see the other warriors of Donna’s force looking on. Some of them looked shocked, but some of them actually looked pleased.
Craddock came up to them. “Uhm, Lady Troy, maybe you should have your repast first, then retreat to your tent for Rest later?” The man suggested shrewdly.
She nodded, hoping that would hide her blushes. “Very well then.”

Gawain tried to lose his nervousness without success as he waited in Donna’s tent. Donna had told him to wait here after he had his own meal, which was some pretty tasty gruel and more water. The sky outside was as bright as ever, but the leathers of the tent blocked out most of the heat and light.
He did not really have much experience with this sort of thing. Sure, there were a few times in his teenage years when he made out with some girls, but since he had become a soldier, opportunities had dried up. After all, he was in the middle of a very big war, and R&R opportunities were non-existent for elite soldiers when there was a severe manpower shortage.
Even during the past few months as a bounty hunter, he hadn’t had much chance to engage the fairer sex. He was always running around on the job, earning more money. He planned to retire when he was 40 after amassing enough funds, a goal which had seemed entirely within his reach.
But here he was, stuck in a strange land in a war with demons, and fighting alongside the woman of his dreams, no less. He didn’t know if he should feel happy or horrified at his situation. But he decided he should try to make the most out of it. When all you have are lemons, make lemonade, he remembered some bigwig telling him in the past. He winced slightly at the innuendo. Geez, maybe lemons aren’t the best analogy right now.
Donna entered the tent, and she eyed Gawain critically as she started stripping off her armor without preamble, leaving her in only a white shirt and a rather short skirt, which allowed her to show a lot of flawless skin. He was bare from the waist up, though he still had his pants on.
He handed her a water skin, which she took gratefully. As she drank, he said, “Miss Troy…”
“Call me Donna.”
He nodded, “Donna.” He let out a long breath of air from his lungs, and asked, “Are you sure?”
“I am sure.” She leaned forward, and her long hair, normally tied up in a bun, cascaded down around her shoulders. She moved towards Gawain as he leaned forward to kiss her. Her hands, along with her superior strength, pushed him back down onto the mat that served as her bed. Their mouths separated reluctantly, “We will do this now, because tomorrow…”
He finished the sentence for her, “Because tomorrow we may die. No regrets, Donna. No regrets.” His arms came up to her chest, and slowly parted the front openings of her shirt as she let the shirt slip down her shoulders and then past her arms, spilling onto the floor.
He carefully clasped her gorgeous, full breasts, rounding them slowly with his fingers, topping it off with a flick of her erect nipples. She moaned with arousal, then ground her hips on top of his penis. He gasped in pain as his erect penis threatened to tear apart his pants, and he had to scramble quickly to remove his pants.
“Oops,” he apologized for his error, which almost broke the mood, but she just laughed softly at him.
“It doesn’t have to be perfect, because we’re just two imperfect people. But every bit of our imperfections adds up to… perfection in our love.” She slithered out of her skirt, then leaned down again towards him, kissing him. He kissed her back, on her mouth, her face, sucking at her shoulders and her neck, then down to her breasts. He used his fingers to tease her clit gently, making her produce her love juices as lubrication before he entered her.
After several minutes of foreplay, he finally pushed himself into her wet vagina, slowly thrusting his way into her deepest orifices. She gasped softly, but her mouth was soon producing sounds of pleasure. He was gentle and steady, trying to make it easy for her. She held him with incredible tightness, and he forced himself not to come until she was ready as well.
They bucked against each other, staring at each other the whole time, trying to remember the face in front of them before the next day arrived. They wanted to commit to memory every bit of their lovemaking. Every sound, every sight, every smell. Even the minor mistakes, a knee drawn up at the wrong time, a careless elbow, the whispered apologies and giggles, seemed to be every bit as important.
Gawain had tears running from his eyes when they came together, caught up in the emotion of their shared passion, of two lovers who found each other too late. He wished he could remain like this forever, with the woman he knew without a doubt was the other half of his soul, lost in her love, her tight embrace, both without and within.
But the next day would bring no love, no joy. Only blood and slaughter.
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The Games that Gods Play