There are nine of them. Eight have died. One remains. When that one falls, my purpose is over, and I shall be claimed by Prophecy.
Druuben noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that the bar's patrons were beginning to look distinctly uncomfortable, and a few even got up to leave.
I serve none but Prophecy. If you serve Her too, then we are partners. If you are indifferent to her, we are strangers. If you oppose her, we are enemies. Which are you?
Druuben saw his hand slide away, with the sleeve covering what he knew were razor-sharp blades.