Writing Prompt-Iris and the Warrior

I felt "in my feelings" again but shoved those into the hollow of my chest. As usual, those feelings felt phony when compared to the fortune surrounding me. Instead I reached for the writing prompt book and found two prompts staggered together. Iris and "a warrior returns from a terrible war"

Both these prompts imbue a certain amount of power in my mind's eye. Power that I project into a corona of green light enveloping the warrior. In my immediate mental image they are not exhausted from the war but they move with snaps of their arms and long curling trails of ribbons. Ribbons that become chains attached to curved machete glaives. Any questions are to be answered by the flicks and sing song the chains.
"How did you survive?"
"Did you lose any close to you?"
"Was it a good war?"
And each of these elicits a movement.
Both chains run up and the blades go akimbo before shucking into the floor
One chain rises while the other hangs limp
Both blades twirl on the floor while the warrior reverberates the chains
The audience knows the answer to these questions and jots them down into notebooks or takes quick snaps with their phones.
The warrior, previously formless, steps a bit closer through the circle of light that flickers when cut with the chain blades. The figure is female but the face pliable. In it I see an ex-girlfriend but then a composite of the delivery girl from the building whose pipes I bang on.
"Is she beautiful," I ask someone standing next to me. They set their notebook down into the breast pocket of a polo shirt. "She? Are you high? HE is 230 lbs and six foot four inches. You didn't read the bios, right? You must be blind? Are you ok? Because, we can ask for some help."
I look again and the form is still feminine. It now wears a flowing dress where the colors of the long skirt rise in a redrock sunset palette. Then it cinches into a cube pattern at the hem the color of baked adobe.
The person who told me I was wrong hollers out a question."What do you want civilians to know?"
If the heard a voice, some trite answer, then I missed it. I saw the figure spin and the chains and flowing furls twirl into a vortex that pulled the iris of light onto itself.
"Did you see that?" I utter and shake my neighbor. They twinge thrash my arms away "What is wrong! I missed the final part of the answer. See what? He was talking!" They roll their eyes and scoot to a seat two chairs from me.
All the light in the room is now gone save for the iris which is now closed and instead a stark emerald line across the stage. Its glow is not sufficient to light any figure so if the warrior is still there I can't tell. I aim to move forward but then remember the spinning blades to which everyone else here seems immune.
I scream "Who are you?"
"Why do you use those swords? Isn't that impractical?"
"Where are you?"
The green line pries open from the fraying tops and stretches back into the iris. From the circle I hear the clanging of metal and undulating chain links clacking against each other.
"Check out that guy!" someone screams. Then flashes from all angles that overtake the green light of the circle. Stumbling back I head to the stage and grab the limp lines of the chains. I then hold them in front of me projecting the panic in my breath into holding it like a sword. I look at my hands and they hold a blue blade that is thick at the hilt and fine towards the fish hook tip. The wide body bubbles with trapped water in the metal. More flashes. Looking behind me the iris is gone. The warrior gone as well. I am standing on the stage surrounded in star bursts of white light and I cock back my arms and run to them screaming.