Nicoli did not offer a verbal answer, barely acknowledging Imogen's question at all.  A cold, piercing look accompanied by silence was all she received.  For her, however, this was as much an answer as any words he might have spoken, telling her all she needed to know about her opponent.  This man whoever he was, did not care.  

The reluctant killer, the freedom fighter, the hero: none would turn down a chance to know their enemy, not as an opponent, but as a human being.  The one who rejected this was one of two things: either too weak to accept what they were doing, or too far gone to even be bothered by their actions, which she suspected was the case with Nicoli.  But it didn't matter.  Neither kind would fight with honor, and neither kind would be granted any kind of mercy before her blades.

Imogen glanced back at Gonad, with a sorrowful smile.  "I thank you for your tale... but I fear the Robey Man and I would not go well together at all.  Farewell, O warrior."

Then she turned towards the portal, and leaped through.

***

She arrives in the arena mid-leap, the swords moving in tandem with her.  The katana and the zweihänder float vertically in front of her, like a pair of bodyguards, protecting their mistress.  The khopesh and the urumi hang behind her, close by.  The scimitar and the rapier are to her right, the claymore and the estoc to her left, all of them pointing forwards.  The two hook swords she carries with her own hands, each angled downwards and slightly away from her body.

Imogen's face is no longer sad or soft, but focused.  She is aware of all of her blades, with perfect clarity.  They are extensions of her, controlled almost by instinct, the fingers she will use to pick apart this broken man.