(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

Dak'kon's strength with spell after spell, until a nimbus of light shone from
him. It wouldn't be enough, and I was still struggling, slowly, with the Art. It
was a contest of Wills, and we needed every drop we could milk out.
"Nordom!" I called, "Nordom, listen! As Creative Director, I have some
orders for you!"
"Status: Awaiting orders," he chirped, as if a behemoth wasn't breaking
against our allies not ten paces away.
Vhailor's axe gouged deep wounds in the walls of his prison and splintered
beams into twigs. Dak'kon was skilled, but each dodged blow, every axe
swing deflected down an angle drained his stamina. Vhailor was tireless, his
juggernaut strength beginning to overwhelm the Zerth.
"I order you to be MORE than you can be, Nordom," I gasped, feeling the
power begin to flood back into my hands, "I order you to become stronger,
faster and more focused than you've ever been. I KNOW you can do this,
because I BELIEVE you can do this."
Nordom stared at me in silence. His crossbows had also fallen still.
"Now repeat the following words: 'I am a strong modron.' 'I am a fast
modron.' 'I am a powerful modron.' 'My Creative Director believes in me.' 'I
am focused for my Director.' Come on, repeat it!"
Nordom spoke, but his voice no longer carried the normal metallic wobble:
It was flat. Focused. Emotionless. "I am a strong modron. I am a fast
modron. I am a powerful modron. My Creative Director believes in me. I am
focused for my Director."
With a mighty heft, Vhailor swung an overhead blow. With one hand on the
hilt and the other on the dull side of the blade, Dak'kon blocked Vhailor's
final judgment. The force of the strike brought the Zerth to one knee, the
thought-honed edge gouged the axe blade an inch deep. Vhailor withdrew
the weapon, his roar of retribution sending a rumble through my being.
Another overhead swing and the force of the blow hammered on Dak'kon's
blade, down his arms, his spine, and through his leg. The strain was too
much, and with a roar of pain his knee shattered against the stone floor.
White slivers of bone splayed out like the thin roots of a tree. Dak'kon's
1033