Bob looked at Dianor for a moment, as the furniture charged him. Worthless. Lifeless. Purposeless. Something that did not deserve the gift of life. He appeared on the other side of the attack, looking at the blade. The Red Truth. He had seen it before. A power basedon absolute truth. Of course, the witches had no idea how unstable the concept of truth was to one who warped reality for a living. Truth in opinion, truth in objectivity? All truths are untrue on some level, or can be made untrue. To rely on such a thing as a source of energy seemed like nothing but the foolish playings of young mages. Reaching out to the blade with both mind and body, he touched it, a bright glow erupting from the point of impact. "You will win this fight." As Bob uttered the lie, the Red Truth was shattered, as he replaced truth with fiction. "Tell your master that she should not waste her Furniture on fighting me. If she wishes me dead, she should come herself."