Although her whipblade was the most beautiful of the ways that she killed, sometimes it came necessary to prioritise the expedience of death over the majesty of it. With her weapon a sword once more she would give it a firm flick, the viscera acquired from the death of the salsafied fellow below her splattering off to the ground. Driving the end of her weapon into the dirt, electricity still cracking from it, she would reach inside her clothing and fiddle briefly with the straps of a holster, drawing out a magnificent handcannon from its deapths. Black, with intricately woven golden lines and curves and a marvellously rich wooden finish, she would half-break the top of the gun, load a clip into its mechanism and then snap it shut. 

Her eyes would look through the gloom and she would take up a firing stance, her legs planted firmly into the ground, her shoulders square and her arm raised up, one hand drawing a dagger from a sheath at her back whilst the other raised her gun to eye level. She sighted a foe. Breathed out, breathed in. "Five." She would breathe, and as she did so squeeze the trigger, one bullet cracking out of the muzzle of her gun, the lick of flame from the end of it spelling death through clean brutality. Her wrist ached slightly, but the calibre of the bullet had left a disgustingly mince-like crater in the head of her foe.

She would turn to the next foe. Once again her breathing slowed. She could feel as time itself waited, waited for her to align every aspect, waited for the Prince of Pleasure to smile upon her shot and grace it with Her presence, so that it flew and granted the swiftest, purest oblivion. As jaw fell from cheek and mutant collapsed to the dirt, she would smile. Two bullets and two deaths by her hand. Four more for perfection.

'Perfection' would not be attained today however. As she went to fire again she heard a roar from her side, and, swinging her gun around, practically leapt out of her skin. Some wretch had managed to sneak up on her, and his screeching, clearly struggling to function chainblade came dangerously close to marring her skin. Taking a step back she would swing out with her blade, but her foe was apparently a little faster than the previous one she had faced, the spinning teeth of his own weapon coming down to meet (and then promptly eat through) her knife. Bringing her handcannon down towards her waist she would fire, the shot entering the [i]creature's[/i] gut, then lash out with her leg. Even injured her foe still stood, and her leg barely seemed to effect him. Throwing her body out of the way she would barely avoid a retaliatory swipe, but as her opponent moved to where she should have been, she fired another shot. 

Her opponent howled in agony as splinters of bone and viscera splattered out from his knee. His chainblade spluttered out as it hit the ground and furiously she would storm to where he lay, one hand dragging him towards where her cracking, razor-sharp blade still stood impaled into the ground. Even as her opponent writhed and bit and scratched she would heave him over, stamping on his face and then bringing the hilt of her sword down as if she was a chef slicing herbs. 

With her vorpal blade parting head from neck she would look up, satisfaction vanishing from her face as yet another foe came into view, this one clearly made of sterner stuff than the four left dead by her hand. Reluctantly she would draw her blade, hunkering behind a pile of rubble as she waited for those far stronger in sword than she to strike the first few blows.