To break a Spirit

[This was a handwritten 10min write that I'm surprised I pulled off without edits]

To break a person is easy. To break a spirit... is another story. So this was a feat, truly: this crumpled will in front of me, lying on the dirt. Rocks and blood in his hair, a severed tautness in his fingers, hanging loose away from his blade.

There was no space in me to feel sorry for him, for a moment ago, he might have killed me. Breaking his will was my only option, because breaking a person was easy, and it was easily that he broke me. My blood in the dirt in his hair, my wrist twisted, my ankle sprained. So I told him, I showed him, how all his loved ones were dead and that the person who broke them with ease was the very reflection that'd been trying to break me now. Revenge was not an option for him. Rage could not fuel him. It was sorrow and despair and sadness and remorse; these were my weapons, and through them: I shattered him.