Before Lyra could move, the light of a neon blue saber flashed before her eyes. She was slow to react, the thing blade ran through her abdomen and liver. Slicing through all the way out her back.
Blood rushed up her throat and out of her lungs. An insufferable heat began to spread from the point the blade stabbed. The pain was sharp, and the saber felt somberly cold in contrast.
As Lyra stared forward with wide eye, her arms, slowly, while shivering, reached for her impaled abdomen.
It was hot.
Her blood felt hot.
The red liquid slowly drew a blossoming design against her cloak.
Lyra felt her vision tremble and her mind go white.
Her face had turned a shade paler.
She parted her lips, and thick pools of vibrant red blood burst out like a fountain. Trickles of the crimson liquid traced down the edges of her lips, framing down her jaw, and coalescing under a point under her chin.
Drip- Drip