Knights of Tezoth

-- That was quite a spectacle, as if a cunning retiarius, a hero of the cruel arenas of the ancient East, had ensnared and bound the movements of a heavyweight murmillo fighter. Fortunately, the capital's physicians are skilled, and Mordred only became more zealous from the pain inflicted upon him by the arrows.
Having answered thus, Ambrose steps out for the next bout. And a voice, familiar since his coming of age, when his grandfather, on the occasion of his entry into adulthood, implanted a magatama into his ear — one of the many treasures of his lineage — again disturbs the knight's mind with an otherworldly voice, audible only to him. Ambrose always chalked up this foreign presence to his own excessive sensitivity — the very same he had recently expounded upon before Deus — but sometimes, as now, this voice screamed so loudly that it was surprising no one else could hear it.
"What a disgrace! Lost to a girl. A big fellow, twice as strong. In my life I never suffered defeats at the hands of women... Now atone for your mistake, maim this sly-faced one. Better yet, cut off his head and put it on a pike. Per the desert customs."
"That shall not come to pass today," Ambrose replied mentally, but arguing with the fierce spirit was, as always, of little use.
"Weakling. Worthy men killed for less. I don't like him. Neither do you. You want to win. So do I, for I was not granted that in my time. Listen to me and obey. Use the deadly strike. The Deadly Strike! THE DEADLY STRIKE!!!"
And Ambrose uses it, the fury of the ancients fills him, the cruelty of the unknown spirit guides his hand — straight at the opponent's neck the point of "Dominus" drives, piercing and rending metal, cloth, skin, and flesh. Pleasant gurgling sounds. Ambrose did not hold back his horse from trampling the fallen with its hooves.
"Well now, splendid. I am pleased." — the evil spirit fell silent for a time.
-- I am no stranger to unbridled violence either, and I am not ashamed to admit it.