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(Note: I excised this from a three year old writing and rewrote, expanding my usual 300 to 350.)

The serrated blade emerged from behind his back, violating pre-scrum spoken words of honour.  The weapon angle-flashed torchlight and enhanced its menace, another evaluative factor for circling combatants keen on catching first hint of a strike.

Mohammed Omar, Taliban leader, hated this woman born of a distant world.  He longed to shear the bold streaks of oxygenated embers trimming the front sides of her jet-black hair, a symbolic marking supporting his perception of her as emissary of evil.  She and partner, he disbelieved their celestial origins.  Iblis alone made their presence possible.

Audacious, Jahrae and the mouthy musician claimed as wife encouraged a world fond of war toward peace.  To Omar, their union itself represented a perversion of faith.

The musician, legend on one world and instigator of it all, closed the distance on the fighters, and daughter Addison followed.

Addison.  Months of biological adjustment erased imposed genetic masking, giving free reign at last to her true biological heritage, now like the musician in appearance and intellect.  Today, on a rescue in the mountains of eastern Afghanistan, she crossed into adulthood, to the peril of many Omar loyalists.

The circling brought Omar nearer Addison, stepchild of the protagonist in peril.  It left the leader with his knife hand exposed to Addison, three meters away and seething with attitude.  The seventeen-year-old went airborne like a long-jumping Olympian.  Before feet touched ground, her hands seized the knife-wielding arm and brought it down with force against her rising knee.  Radius and ulna snapped as if twigs.  Addison alighted in perfect balance as the knife fell away, its strike of ground silent, lost in a cave-echoing scream of wailed distress.

Addie spun the shocked Taliban leader with a hand.  With a magician’s speed and a hammer’s power, face struck palm and the broken leader sailed into unconsciousness.

“Weak my arse, you moron!”  The come-of-age peace warrior meant her declaration for Omar, the Taliban and their misassumptions of gender, and the universe.  Her grip on the limp body loosened and she walked away, dropping Mohammed Omar to historical insignificance, hard upon the damp cave floor.

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