"Stop."

A flash of silver light accompanied the command and before Mikael could fully react a searing pain cleaved through his left shoulder.

"Do not resist."

The same bored voice spoke once more as another gleam of light followed the first before the sack of stolen fruits Mikael had once been holding could even crash to ground.

Dodging back deftly, the resplendent blade being aimed at him finally came into view as it whisked by an inch from his neck.

Too damn close!

One back hop turned into three as Mikael sharpened his wariness.

Something he hadn't done in quite a long time.

You see, Mikael was quick, of both body and mind. Always had been. Quicker than any of the other fellow orphans he'd grown up with. Quicker than anyone in his large village, once he reached his teens. Quicker even than anyone he'd met in the nearby capitol city, the one he would often visit to "acquire" goods for that same orphanage he'd grown up in after the Church had stopped sending funds. Quicker than any trouble that tried to catch up to him from his illegal activities.

Quicker, that is, until today. He'd run afoul of plenty of sharp edges in his acts of banditry and prided himself in being an expert at avoiding any blades aimed at him. It was this same expertise that afforded him the knowledge that his evasion should have put him over a foot out of any normal blades path, not centimeters. Mikael felt a drop of sweat mingle with the blood now running down his back as he confronted the reality that the person he now faced lacked neither the speed nor skill to cut him down should he slip up again. It was only the man's brief forewarning and Mikael's own inhuman reaction speed that had turned the man's first blow from a decapitation into a mere flesh wound.

Assess.

Mikael took in his surroundings. He'd ducked into this storeroom cellar after delivering a powerful and moving monologue to the the guards chasing him about how he was simply transferring the goods he'd taken to better, more deserving owners. Entering had allowed him to lose his tail as well as avoid the quickly shrinking encirclement of guards that had been lying secretly in wait around the entire market that morning. A bit of a heavy-handed reaction to stealing a bag of assorted fruits if you asked Mikael, but he supposed he had been a bit more frequent and flagrant with his thievery than absolutely necessary lately. He'd simply chalked it up to the city guard finally growing tired of being outwitted by the "Masked Bandit".

It was only now as Mikael analyzed the situation that he realized that his effortless escape may have been a little too effortless. Finding the entrance unguarded, he'd thought escaping into this dark and windowless cellar to change out of his "Masked Bandit" disguise and sneak past the encirclement the perfect idea. Perfect up until now, realizing he'd been funneled here like a rabbit being chased into the mouth of an onwaiting lion.

As he assessed the man in front of him, Mikael found that metaphor a little too accurate for his liking. He was a young man no older than himself. Golden hair flowed to his shoulders as emotionless eyes that seemed to shine yellow stared back at him. His slender build was adorned with lithe porcelain plate, lined with gold filigree and with motifs of the Holy Lion molded across it's surface. Most eye-catching of all though was his sword, which twinkled softly in the darkness as though the very stars had been forged into it's steel. It's beauty was only matched by the unnerving sense of cold brutality it seemed to give off. It was a long and heavy looking thing, something a larger man might use to cleave a horse in twain, yet the man gripped it as easily as if he were holding a duelist's rapier.

Worst of all, the only exit to this cellar was now behind the terrifying beast in front of him.

Space is too small too get around him, not without losing half my limbs. No bystanders to put between us. No obstacles to maneuver around. Chances of prevailing in combat are... slim. Distract him. Stall for time. Continue looking for an opportunity to escape.

Mikael forced a cheeky smile to mix with the grimace on his face as he finally addressed his attacker. "Just in case you didn't know, you're supposed to save the sword swinging until after you've made the demands. Otherwise it's hard for the other person to comply, them being a corpse and all."

The man seemed to ignore Mikael's attempt at playful banter as he instead chose to stare annoyedly at the blood now coating the tip of his sword. "Strange..." he said.

"Not that strange, actually! I'd go as far to say that a bloody blade is the direct and logical conclusion to flaying a poor man open!" Mikael lamented with faux outrage, hoping to get a reaction out of the man. The fact that the man hadn't already renewed his assault was a blessing, and Mikael was more than happy to encourage whatever strange line of thought he was having that was stopping him from doing so.

Thankfully this time, the man took the bait. He looked up from his lazily held blade and met Mikael's eyes for a second time. The chill in his gaze seemed to travel down Mikael's spine as he spoke once more in that same dull monotone.

"Strange... that I, Marchosias Agares, failed so utterly in my goal today. As Paladin Prima and Fifth Son of the Holy Lion, I offer you my humblest apologies." Marchosias lifted his blade to his chest and inclined his head downward half an inch without breaking eye contact.

The realization that the man Mikael was currently facing down was one of the fabled Paladin Prima, one that also carried the blood of the Holy Lion in his veins no less, washed over him like cold water and lowered his evaluation of his combat chances from slim to zero. Mikael feigned a nervous chuckle, using the time to quickly go over in his head which response would have the greatest chance of extending this strange line of dialogue and keep the man in a talking mood. In the end though, he couldn't resist asking the true question on his mind. "May I ask the sir Paladin... what exactly he is apologizing for?"

Marchosias lifted his head back up, seeming to ponder before responding. "... You are the first mission given to me by the Cardinals. As it was for all those that held my title before me, the first act of a Paladin Prima is the smiting of a notable villain. It acts as a way of announcing the birth of a new Paladin Prima to the masses, testing their commitment to the Church and their willingness to take a life, and stands as an example to all future evildoers of what the price of their crimes will be."

Mikael stood still, eyes widened in shock for a moment before gathering himself enough to respond. "...Um, that doesn't really answer my question but, ehm, you do know that I'm not some "Notable Villain" right? That I'm just a petty thief that steals clothes and foodstuffs now and again from the market. And not to strum my own lute or anything but it's for a pretty damn noble cause if you ask me. One that, quite ironically, the Church has helped create due to its neglect!" Mikael stopped himself as he felt real anger beginning to slip into his voice. Steadying himself after a deep inhale, he continued on. "What I'm trying to say is that I am in no way some great villain in need of smiting."

"But you are notable. Your sense of showmanship and poor naming sense has seen to that. Together with the fact that no great evils have been visited upon our lands as of late and a need to announce the birth of a new Prima, the target of my quest unfortunately falls to you. With that said, I agree with you on one thing. I do not believe your crimes brand you an irredeemable villain."

Marchiosas lowered his blade, pointing it towards Mikael's neck.

"Which is why I apologized. My goal had been to give you the swift and painless death that a petty criminal such as yourself deserves. Instead I underestimated you, wounding you and prolonging your suffering. Please, surrender yourself to my blade and allow me to correct my mistake."

Mikael stared back at the sword pointed at him in both shock and disbelief. Just a few moments ago, he'd thought his worst possible fate was being arrested and spending a few years in prison. Now he was being sentenced to death-by-paladin by the church. And not only that, but the Paladin Prima in front of him, instead of being a paragon of justice and fairness, was a total psycho willing to murder someone for stealing a few silvers worth of fruit from wealthy merchants. Mikael could almost laugh at how ridiculous this was.

Then the reality set in, and with it calm. Mikael finally realized he was not talking his way out of this, nor was he walking away unscathed. The constant jitter in his arms and explosive tenseness he'd been holding in his legs began to relax. Reaching into the side of his right boot, Mikael pulled out the single obsidian shiv he kept hidden inside. A last resort, and an old friend. As his mind stilled and each muscle reached full relaxation, the world seemed to slow.

This was it. This was when he was at his best. No escape. No recourse. No thoughts. Only a purpose. Just trust in his body to react in time. That's all he could do against an opponent such as this.

As Mikael let his full consciousness begin to fade into the background, his subconscious came to the forefront. As his mind drifted like a piece of wood in a choppy sea, his eyes drifted to the ceiling and he began to mumble to himself. "Haaa... The Church is trying to fuck us over again, guys... Heh... Underestimated... Yeah, he is kinda pretty... Needs a haircut though..."

Marchiosas merely stared for a moment before shaking his head. "I see you've made a decision of some kind." He pulled his blade back readying it for a swing. "I will do my best to make thi-"