He's so [i]fast[/i]. She's never, ever met anyone before who can move like she does. She's used to being able to just be places, as smooth and quick as thinking and this is like having someone inside her [i]thoughts[/i]. She should have time to assess this, to figure this out, to plan her defense strategically but in all of those private moments [i]he's still moving[/i]. 

And he's moving [i]wrong[/i].

When she moves at speed, thought and action are the same thing. She can see with him it's the reverse - he thinks, he decides, and then [i]something[/i] happens he hurls forwards following that thought to its conclusion. He turns his brain off and attacks like a marionette, whirling and striking and grasping out its premeditated expression of hate and [i]nobody[/i] has the power to stop it. 

It's all she can do to get the shield between her and him before he screams his terrible scream.

It buckles under her fingers.

It [i]bends[/i].

She curls her legs close to her chest and ducks her head and curls up into a ball, neck still caught in that terrible fist, hiding herself behind her darkened mirror as the world shatters around her. It's so loud she can't breathe. The air is too fast, too violent to beg for oxygen. 

And then, with a crash, she's on the floor. She finally realizes that the sound has stopped and it's just that her ears are still ringing. 

Harrowed away to a single instinct, she gets to her feet and readies her shield. That reaction takes priority over breathing, over running, over shaking in fear. All of those things are happening to some degree as well - she's backing away, gasping and trembling - but they're ultimately subordinate to the instinct to defend. 

[Nevery Give Up: [b]10[/b]]