He raised his right arm to the foe. He did not get the chance to lower it. A spear twice his height in length impaled him through the palm and exited his shoulder as it was embedded in the ground. The holy lance burned his very being from the inside, shown from the steam the began to rise from the entry and exit wound. Pain filled his senses. He did not waiver though. He had chosen this fight.
He reached across his body and gripped the spear in his other hand. He burned his palm as he attempted to rip it free. Yet another cut through the air and pierced him. His forearm was pinned to his chest, and even though the force of the lance was enough to knock him down, the angle at which it had pierced him denied him the respite that came after a fall.
He shouted in defiance and rage and hurt. His shouts fell upon deaf ears. The only response that came was a heavenly rain of lances from the sky. By the time it had subsided, the sandman fell quiet.
