[center][h3]Franz Burine [color=6ecff6]Plaza[/color][/h3][/center]
[center][@ERode][/center]

The prey her myriad eyes brought her upon turned, the city's flickering lights glinting on the black faceplate of a biker's helmet. Katherine raised her arms, not caring for the girl's reply while she raced to make good on her threat. Untold years as an Enforcer prepared one for the many vagaries of hunting a Magus. The helmet and bodysuit were mundane, but tools here nonetheless, veils for one who sought to hide their identity. It was difficult to ascertain the magecraft and aims of her opponent without the ability to read lips, measure breathing, or peer into their eyes. She would have to remove those impediments. The fanfare that accompanied the beginning of a Magus duel was absent, no spoken hymn or activation of the girl's crest, just a rush towards her waist-

The bleeding lumps upon Katherine's arms burst over, tendrils of Magewraith vine spilling forward as the overwhelming prana stored in her system sought escape. Hardy lengths of thorned vines sprang into wild coils, bullets searing into her lovelies before falling, unfulfilled, to the ground. Behind the bloodstained and now bullet-marked vines the Enforcer's face twisted into a satisfied smirk. A gun? Modern tools were shunned by the esteemed Magi she'd spent decades butchering in Europe. To see them was not uncommon, shoved into the hands of zombie-like thralls or wielded by the unmagi who were involved in the world of magic's secret struggles. For a Master to wield one... Well, they were certainly either an amateur or a heretic. What a [i]thrill[/i], fighting in a backwater like America. It was good to be home. There was no sense in salivating over the opportunity to torture either a weakling or an aberrant, not when the opportunity was right there.

The six smoldering holes in her Magewraiths oozed with a sweet, purple smoke. Burnt slightly by the impacts, the true, aromatic nature of the plant revealed itself. No plant flourished in the witch's garden without reason, and her trophy darlings were toxic every which way they could be. Noxious at first, maddening at last, the aroma of a Magewraith's blood crystallized the witch's aims: A toxin of excitement that incapacitated by incensing those it afflicted. Pain, excitement, fear, blurring and intensifying until the mind itself frayed. Only a hint of that capacity showed itself for a few bullet holes, a fell scent upon the wind... for now.

No sooner than her vines had batted away the opening salvo the Enforcer flung herself forward, body carried with supernatural vigor from all the plundered magical energy crashing through her circuits. She burnt off mana with every motion, pushing the superhuman capabilities of a Magus killer even further as she closed the distance. The dagger borrowed from Berserker glinted in her left hand, lowered, pointed, but not yet in use as her right swung out. A fist with the power to crack concrete was the least of Naoko's worries, the swarm of hungry tendrils hanging off of the witch's limb all swinging like barbed whips towards the best meal they'd get in a while.