Her attack far from successful, the breath knocked from Izzy’s lungs when Theurge’s fist slammed into her back, then slid a few yards away from a kick, pain prickling through her ribcage at the initial attack. She laid in the grass for a couple seconds after the feeling returned to her legs, stunned.
	She shakily got to her feet. This was not working. She needed to strike from behind him somehow, not head-on.
	“Like I said,” she began uneasily, unsure whether she should take Theurge’s comment as a compliment or an insult, “all I want is Cerasus’ stupid arm. No gimmicks. No trickery.”
	Once more, she ran toward him, only this time, she veered off, making to run a circle around him. She pushed her legs to move as fast as they could, then even faster, to circle him a few times, hoping he would turn just a moment too late and give her an opportunity, no matter how short of a window, to land a blow to his backside.