I would kill him, I would tear him to shreds, but he only smiled and batted me aside with his sword. I grew more and more frustrated with him, for he was batting away all my strikes as if they were nothing, as if I was untrained. When I tried to switch between forms he only smiled and continued to bat away my blows.

“Do you want to know something else?” He asked. “I killed your father. I planted the illness in him. I did it all, and I took great pleasure in it.”

He’s only saying that to make me angry, I realized, To make me reckless, to make sure that I will do dumb things like I am doing now.

I breathed. I took in another breath, more and more, as I fought, and saw flaws in Ani’sja’s fighting. He left himself open to attacks multiple times, in many different ways.

I sighed, but the thought came to me again, as my mind put together the pieces. It all made sense, how he said that he killed my father.

And suddenly I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

I roared and I struck and struck with all of my strength against Ani’sja’s sword, pounding on his sword. His grin increased but then his eyes widened.

Everything was blurring now, but I knew one thing: I was winning this fight. I didn’t care about winning this fight, however. I would rip him limb from limb. He would pay for everything—everything! He would die with his eyes plucked out, his arms and legs painfully ripped from his body. I would savor his death, savor every part of it. I did not care if it was unholy, I did not even care if it was evil. This was justice, and sometimes justice did not look good.

In a blur I had him at the point of my sword, but for some reason I hesitated. Maybe this was wrong, I thought, maybe I shouldn’t be doing this.

But he used this moment to get back up on his feet and strike at me. I blocked the strike and I striked at him again but, like before, he casually batted it aside.

“You know,” He said, batting away more strikes, “You are getting more and more predictable. You hesitate when you should strike. You strike when you should hesitate. Really, you should stop with all of this if you want to be a better fighter.” He smiled. “But I am afraid that you shall never have the chance, for I must kill you now.”

He moved in a blur and suddenly my sword had clattered to the floor.

No! I thought, but it seemed that I had already lost.

I stumbled back, almost dizzy. This couldn’t be happening. All of the tribesmen that I’d ever talked to had said that justice was always done in the end. How could this time be any different?

They were all alive tribesmen, I realized, None of them talked of their comrades who had lost the fight and had not gained justice.

I suddenly realized that everybody was watching me, and I tried to formulate a plan. Maybe I could disarm him, make it a more fair fight…

But even then it would not be a fair fight. He was much faster and stronger than I could ever be…unless I had a sword.

“I suppose I should ask if you yield.” He said, “But there is no yielding in a fight of honor. Death is the only option.” He grinned crookedly, “Unless you want to be the coward, and me the merciful victor.”

“Never.” I spat, then rushed him.

It was all completely improvised, but he was obviously taken by surprise. He stepped back as I grabbed his hand and twisted it. His sword came out of his hand and I grabbed it midair, tackling him.

But he was not done. He drew a knife from his belt and planted it in my thighs. I cried out in pain, but I did not move from my position. If I moved it would give him an opening.

He grabbed the knife and took it out of my thigh and tried to put it somewhere else but I kicked and disarmed him.

“Do you yield?” I asked in a mimicking tone.

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He smiled and punched me.

I rolled over, grasping my face.

How had his—he was going to be on top of me in a second!

I rolled over as he tried to tackle me, for I knew what was to come if he actually got ahold of me, and got up, and the fight restarted, this time with me fighting with his sword and him with his knife.

I knew that he would have to make sure that he wasn’t close (which was exactly what he was doing) so I tried to close the distance, but every time I tried he just danced away.

“Coward!” I yelled, but he didn’t listen. He was too busy fighting with his knife.

But I knew that he was on the defensive in this fight; I would just have to wear him down if I wanted to win, though that was also his only way of defeating me.

I forced him outside, and his chiefs followed. By now he was starting to get good at this, and I was starting to get worn down, but I knew that it was only a matter of time before he got worn down, too.

But he showed no signs of it. With every strike, he seemed to get more and more energized, and it looked as if he would be able to overcome me when it started to look like he was tired.

Finally, I thought, and pushed forward. For my father. For everyone who had been harmed by this monster.

Immediately, he seemed to snap back into focusing on the fight, his sleepiness completely gone, and he almost landed a strike on me.

Stupidly, I dodged it, letting him slash at me and miss, and I danced to the side, letting him recover his wits and attack me.

I dodged again, but this time I slashed at his arm, taking off a good chunk of it.

Immediately, he cried out in pain as the broken piece of the arm fell off the other part of his arm.

He fell to his knees and this time, without thinking, I cut off his head and it tumbled to the ground, his evil grin still on his face.

There was a moment of stunned silence as I circled the body, sword pointed down as if I expected him to rise up again to fight me.

Then, cries of outrage as the chiefs rushed me. My mother was cursing me and the old chief of ‘Sja was yelling that I was an evil spirit straight from Hell itself as I fought them, but this time I ignored all of it. I didn’t care what they said. I was numb. I had achieved what I had fought for so long: no outward emotions.

I fought my way through the crowd of chiefs, who tried to block my strikes, but I remembered what the old chief had told me in every move and strike of my sword. Today I used it against him.

I danced around every blow that every chief tried to aim at me and found the battle almost over. When I had dueled Ani’sja, I had effectively distracted them for long enough for their forces to become uncoordinated and, eventually, if we could use this to our advantage, working against each other.

I saw the chiefs racing after me and kept on running. As I ran, I quickly thought, trying to put a plan together.

Our forces were exhausted, too. We had probably only barely been able to direct ourselves when the chiefs had been taken. The enemy could still turn this battle around in their favor. If I could somehow disrupt their lines…

We only needed a small disruption, an opening, and the battle could be won for us…

I immediately got an idea. It would be suicidal, but it would also be the most heroic way to die. After my father…

I slammed a barrier in my mind into place. I could not think of him right now. If I thought of him right now, I could—no, I would—become reckless.

I looked behind me. The chiefs were still running at me. If I could make them appear enemies…

I smiled and turned my back, tucking my hair into my shirt as I did so. That would make sure that they did not know that I was a woman, and so would not question me.

I rushed the chiefs, then cried out in the manliest voice that I could muster as the chiefs tried to cut through me.

“Enemies in our ranks!” I screamed. “Enemies in our ranks! Help me, fellow tribesmen!”

Almost immediately they turned and ran at the chiefs, blindly, thinking that they were their enemies. By the time they recognized that they were killing their own chiefs, it was too late.

I then pulled my hair out of my shirt and showed myself as a woman.

Their anger was immediate. They tried to rush me but I stopped them with my sword.

“Not today,” I said. There was now only a skeleton force at that point of their lines. Hopefully, I would be able to hold them off for long enough for my forces to utilize the hole in their lines.

I ran, attracting more tribesmen to my cause, which, ironically, was killing me. I knew that I could not fight a hundred men for long. I was fine with that. I would die with meaning, something that my life had lacked for so, so long. At least before I’d become the uniter.

They kept on yelling about me being a coward and so, as I saw my forces start to take advantage of the hole in their lines, I turned around and smiled.

“Bring it on.” I told them suicidally. I didn’t care about my life anymore, so long as I could hold them off for long enough.

The storm of strikes started immediately. It was too much for me to bat away, and I knew that I needed to.

The tribesmen crowded me for the slaughter with faces that looked like they would glorify in the slaughter.

This is how it ends, I thought, smiling, as I killed one and enraged them even more. But I realized something: This is how it should end.

For years and years I had just wanted to die a happy death, surrounded by all of my close friends and family, but I had never realized that all this time I had been wishing for a death with purpose. A death fighting for what I truly believed in, what I wanted to believe in. And I truly believed in uniting the world. Hopefully others would be able to continue in my absence, but for now, I could rest.

And so as I saw the line open up for our soldiers to come in and take me back, I smiled, even as the swords cut into me.

This is how it was meant to be, I thought, This is how it should end. This is how I end.