Psylocke Strike from the Shadows

Stalking beyond the granite bench into the high cedar canopy, a treacherous adversary claimed the suspension span: a snarling reptilian beast warrior figurine, barbed tail curled to strike. He thought the swaying heights shielded his flank. Vaulting clean off an overhead vine in a tight somersault, I slashed downward with my freshly honed translucent purple acrylic blade, catching an angled silver foil wrapper caught beneath the wood grain. The midday sun blazed through the purple edge into a blinding psychic butterfly flare across his painted eyes. Shocked by the burst, the brute lost footing and tumbled into the soft ferns below. I touched two fingers to my lips, blew a mocking farewell kiss, and held the bridge.