[i]Minerva Fairchild[/i] -- [u]The Lion's Fang[/u]

Passively, Minerva watched on as Damian conjured forth a set of illusory and flickering blades to complement the chastising he venomously spat forth in her direction. As much as she wished, as much as she should have retorted in kind to such words, the Noble did not. Instead, [i]Durendal[/i] hung loosely at her side after the salute. Within her own mind, and her own mind alone, a singular phrase echoed to her in particular as she took a step forward.

[color=662d91][i]If have to look along the shaft of an arrow from the [b]wrong end[/b],[/i][/color]

Her fingertips tensed slightly on the hilt of her sword, and formerly invisible runes on the side flickered in a purely white light. Her concentration rippled up through her arms swiftly, coursing quickly through her veins was a new kind of horrific power as her eyes closed tightly shut.

[i][color=662d91]if a man has you at his mercy, then hope like [b]hell[/b] he's an evil man.[/color][/i]

Slowly, her eyelashes raised to bring her gaze to bear once again. What were once brilliantly fiery sapphires had gave way to a new sensation for all to see. Filling her eyes was a type of magic that only few had ever seen or possessed the will to learn, as the air itself snapped, crackled and broke as arcs of electricity traced jagged paths across her cheeks. Even still, there was not a single utterance nor incantation from the girl as she took one steady step forward towards Damian. 

[i][color=662d91]Because the evil like [b]power[/b], power over [b]people[/b]. And they want to see you in [b]fear[/b],[/color][/i]

In her own gaze, the world had strayed unto a slowed rate. Leaves fell from the trees at a snail's pace, the wind which had been brushing her cheek only moments before seemed to crawl to an utter standstill. Even this occurred with only one blade, for if she decided to draw upon [i]Caladbolg[/i] the rate by which she could move doubled. For now as she took another step across the distance towards Damian, one could not see the direction of her stare, but within all means any could certainly sense it. The entirety of her encompassing focus was upon Damian and his magic, how it moved inexorably to and fro. Patterns of such would be easily recognizable at this rate, and the sooner she found a pattern, the sooner she could find the weakness in his defense. 

It was only a matter of time, and with this sight, she had all the time in the world.

[i][color=662d91]They want you to know that you are going to [b]die[/b]. So they'll [b]talk[/b], they'll [b]gloat[/b],[/color][/i]

[i][color=662d91]they'll put off the [b]murder[/b] like another man will put off a [b]good cigar[/b].[/color][/i]

With her steel-tipped boots digging into the ground itself, Durendal smoothly transitioned to rest the hilt of the blade against her cheek, while the sharpened pointed edge came to rest pointing directly towards Damian's heart. While this felt like an eternity for her, the speed by which this was accomplished in all actuality was barely even a blur. Like coiled springs, her knees bent to gather an immense amount of strength in her legs like a venomous snake about to strike. Her free hand swept behind her gracefully as her power arced across the very cobblestone street beneath her for a moment.

[color=662d91][i]So hope like [b]hell[/b] your captor is an [b]evil man[/b].[/i][/color]

And so she launched herself forward with absolutely inhuman speed beyond imagining. Her first strike swept forward with this rapidly enhanced strength as Durendal sang its eerie tune once it struck vertically through the air before she had even closed the distance. The result cracked and split the very road in font of her as a burst of highly pressurized air ruptured forth in a vertical, but invisible crescent. Tearing through the air right for the brunt of Damian's frontal, and heavily fortified defenses.

Minerva herself flickered and then sharply changed direction. In little more than the blink of an eye she passed Damian's right flank, and in another wicked change of movement she was suddenly behind him. Even with his swirling maelstrom of blades, she could find gaps, holes, weaknesses within it at ease and with a precisely timed movements, each blurring thrust or strike of her [i]Durendal[/i] passed between the thin slits of his moving shield. There was no relent as she pushed forward, and a maddeningly fast maelstrom of hellishly precise strikes came searching for every weakness that he might hold.

[color=662d91][i]A good man will kill you with hardly a word[/i].[/color]

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Credit to Terry Pratchett for the purple lines. RIP you brilliant man.
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