[center] 
[h2]Fredehildr “Frede” Merogasque[/h2] 
[h3] Abandoned Room, Preistella [/h3] [/center]

A laughter bellowed from the young, dauntless knight before the group, and haughty; prideful, yet therein seemed to exist some sort of justification for this sort of action. 


She had simply allowed the other to hit her jaw point-blank without even the slightest bit of movement to evade the attack. After all, that was what 

“IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?! IS YOUR HAND BROKEN?! SHATTERED!? DON’T MAKE ME LAUGH, SCUMBAG. YOU WILL NEVER STAND ON THE SAME LEVEL AS ME, BASTARD!”

Another laugh that seemed to carry in it the weight of a god itself, bellowing from the deepest reaches of her existence. As if defying the people before her. Defying their expectations. But there was something more to that. Something greater than even the pride that Fredehildr held towards her own ability and nature. 

She was enjoying this. 

“Here, I’ll tell you what. Want another go at it? You still got one hand. Try it again, kid. Come on, hurt me!”

Alistair, giving into her provocation, proceeded to ram his other hand into the iron-wall of a knight before him, again, shattering his other hand as he has the previous one. 

“I guess you aren’t smart. You got guts though, I’ll give you that. Even if they are on the floor behind you. Pity. Your will was great, but your body was weak. I was hoping for a better challenge here.”

A flash.

Perhaps hardly understood by the eyes of anyone in the room, aside from the trained [Lugnican] knights and their heightened senses or blessed beings as detached from the vulgar, common crowd, would comprehend. 

And in that exact moment of acceleration, her body stopped. The sword she had carried on her and stabbed into the dirt was formerly in her hand, but as if a bullet had gone off, she had let go of the sword and it had been propelled at flame at inhuman speeds. 

In addition to this, her freehand had been brought forward to the person before here.

… With the hand not gripping the sword in her hand barreled straight into Alistair’s chest, likely killing him instantly. 

  

“Maybe in another life, you could give me that challenge, asshole. But don’t forget the name: Fredehildr Merogasque. Take it with you to the afterlife. You made one mistake though. You pissed me off.” 

But there was a sigh of regret in her voice. Something was off. 

“I wish I could have gotten his name though.” 

Taking a look at the last person remaining, Fredehildr began to speak again, casually, as if none of the bloodied violence had occurred previously.

“You can either surrender now or end up like these two. Your pick.” 









[@Cu Chulainn][@FamishedPants][@Letter Bee][@Red Alice]