I never intended to fall for him like I did, for he was too powerful, too lethal and just downright scary. He was the strongest fighter of us all, probably why he was our teacher, and he was also one of the chosen ones.
Legends said that once every 30 years, a new warrior was chosen to lead our troops into battle and he who was chosen, would bear the mark of the gods. This mark you ask? A green and golden tattoo, starting from the fingers and growing upwards the more powerful you became. Designs so intricate, they would make you stop and stare, distracting you from the tasks at hand. And his mark wrapped around his entire upper body, so beautifully, so dangerously.
Not even the elders could touch this man, because for reasons unknown, he was the strongest fighter the clans had ever known and he was also the youngest leader anyone had ever had. Standing at a colossal six foot eight, weighing in at around two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle and having skills nobody had ever seen or heard of, made him a target every leader tried to take down, and failed at doing so.
Everybody that is, except for me. All five foot eight, one hundred and forty pounds of me. It had taken everybody off guard, for their mightiest warrior had also fallen, at the hands of some puny girl…