Fox's Glade like lawyers in a murder case

     Embry's vision finally tremored. In a blur of motion, all of his energy seemed to dwindle into oblivion; powdering into a sublime residue. No longer could he find the proper mechanisms to sequester his army. His was the failure of an extensive front: so elusive to the swift prelude of defeat as to be snared, unawares, in the spider's web. 

     Upon the final thud of his body against the hard, earthen battleground, he gasped at the wrenching fit of overwhelming pain that blossomed across the summation of his being. He could only just conceive the notion that this would be the end. As unlikely as it had seemed only moments before, Embry realized that he had learned a valuable lesson in the life of a mercenary; that, indeed, defeat is plausible at any given moment. Sighing, he fell limp beneath his opponent. 

     Fine. It's over. You win. And then, at least she deserved the triumph. She was a skilled opponent, nonetheless.