Sexy armor should be a thing, but for men and women. Why? To make a point. The point being, this warrior is so good a killing while not being killed, they don’t even need practical armor, they just want the enemy to die with conflicted feelings of fear, anger, hate, and arousal.

Imagine, you’re on a battlefield, fully armored with your sword and shield, then you hear the cries from the front ranks, each getting closer and closer, then you hear a war cry, a roar meant to send shivers down your spine. The cry gets closer, then you see the warrior, a massive monster of a man, wielding a sword larger than yourself. You notice the warriors “armor:” nothing more than a metal thong keeping his member and jewels from impeding his razing of the enemy, and what look like small metal disks upon his chest, serving only to cover his nipples.

You gaze upon this sight, frozen in place, unable to make even a sound. You then hear another cry, a banshee scream, from behind you. An ally of the scantily clad warrior has managed to attack from the rear.

She wields two axes, each near the size of your chest, hacking and chopping all who stand before her, giving them not a second to strike or dodge. You know this, this lioness, is the companion of the warrior by her garb. Nothing more than a metal brassiere preventing her mounds from swinging, distracting her, and what appears to be metal underwear, barely covering her woman’s pride.

As you switch your gaze from the lioness, to the warrior, back the the lioness, and over and over again, your bladder shrinks and your bowels loosen. You watch as only these two slay every last one of your comrades, unable to come to their assistance, frozen in place, nothing more than a statue of meat, blood and bone. In time, you are the only one left to oppose them. You raise your shield and ready your sword as they turn their attention to you. A lunge at the warrior, ready to pierce his heart, whilst raising your shield to block the lionesses strike. Without hesitation, they calmly step aside and avoid your strike. You stumble over one of you felled comrades and collapse in the blood-soaked soil.

No longer feeling fear, only rage and shame, you tear your helm from your head, knowing it is useless against these two. You throw down your shield, knowing it is nothing more than an annoyance to them, for they had destroyed the shields of your comrades. You remove your armor, knowing it will only slow your movements, your allies were fools to believe theirs would protect them from these two… these two monsters. You pick up a second blade from a corpse. You dash forward, unthinking, unwavering. For the first time, you see them prepare to defend. Your first strike collides with the Warrior’s sword, sending sparks into the air. Your second strike crashes against the Lionesses axes, carving a groove down the side of one. Your blades shatter.

Knowing victory is hopeless, you lower the broken swords. You raise your face, and look upon them not with resignation, but… respect. They faced a small army, yet did not hesitate in their attacks. They had lain waste to all that opposes them. All but you. Why? For the first time, you hear their voices, not their war cries.

“This one has potential.” The Warrior, his voice sounding not like that of a savage barbarian, as you expected, but that of a… scholar.

“Didn’t expect another.” The Lioness, her voice suprisingly melodious, like that of a fair maiden, singing for her love.

They look from eachother to you. They ask a question.

“Do you want to get stronger?”

You ask why.

“To protect that which you cherish.”

You tell them you have nothing. Your mother died of of sickness when you were 10, your father died of an accident in the fields when you were 12, you had no siblings, and were conscripted into the army at 13. These bodies may have been your allies, but they were not your friends.

“The other one also has nothing to protect. They were an orphan who had to work constantly just to live day to day.” The Lioness.

“They will both find something to protect, much the same we did.” The Warrior.

“We’re bringing them both back. To make them strong.” The Lioness.

“We both knew that the moment this one came at us and shattered those blades.” The Warrior.

You ask who this other person is.

“A fellow soldier of yours, armed with the remnants of their spear.”

There were few soldiers who used a spear. You have an idea of the ones this… other may be.

They both yell, loudly.

“Come! We’re going! This one comes with us!”

You turn to see another survivor, stripped of near all there armor, same as you. They’re covered in filth, their hair is a mess, same as you. It is a young woman, near your age. She is not attractive, yet not homely. She is… plain. Just an average person, pulled into a slaughter. Yet something about her… captivates you.

As you leave the field of death, you wonder. Will she be attracted to you, the way you are to her? Your belly is soft, your skin pale. You’re unmannered, simple. Your hands are rough. You wonder if she will even be attracted to another woman.

(I now realize I may have gotten carried away.)