“Rulers make slaves,” Diana said, landing softly. “Warriors make graves. I am neither. I am a protector.”
She dropped the blade. It clattered on the marble. Wonder Woman Vs Warlord Part 2
He laughed—a dry, ugly sound. “Protector? Your mother sent you to stop me. That’s a jailer, princess. A jailer with a nice tiara.” “Rulers make slaves,” Diana said, landing softly
The air in the ruined throne room of the fallen kingdom of Kheshatta still tasted of ozone and ancient dust. Wonder Woman’s lasso glowed faintly gold around the Warlord’s gauntleted fist, but he did not burn. He did not confess. He grinned—a crack in a granite cliff. I am a protector
“No,” he whispered. “No, I am not. I cannot be.”
She did not strike. She did not bind him. She simply stood there—truth incarnate, not as a weapon, but as a mirror.