He looked down to see the sword plunged to the hilt in his side but could not feel the cold steel, nor any stirring of pain. Was he dead already? Had his soul departed, leaving his torso to rot on a broken skeleton? He squeezed his eyes, hoping to feel something, anything that would belie he was no longer of this world. Then a whiff tickled the tiny hairs of his nostrils, a subtle fragrance, leaving a lightly aromatic lilt on his senses — Old Spice. He was alive, and a man who smelled like a man had just bested him.