She can't breathe. Bella heaves with the desperation of a wounded animal, but her throat fills with frothing blood instead of air. Her voice cracks. She gurgles. She bubbles. She seethes. But there's no air.

The princess in her vision is still a figure of blinding gold and peerless beauty, but when she moves now she splinters. Her arm shatters into terrible mirror shards when she moves it. Her head distorts and twists in shining spiral patterns. And then all at once her light goes out and what's left is a monster.

"You are such a disappointment, little knife. Even this is more than you deserve."

"Well? Go on. Back in the box."

There is a single point of flickering light in the entire universe for Bella's eyes to see. The cuts on her face burn like fire. Her voice is dwindled to a desperate wheeze. There are no scents but her own putrid fear. No sounds but the rush of blood pounding its irregular rhythm through her body. 

Ka-thump. Ka-thump Ka-thump. Ka-thump. Ka-ka-ka-ka-ka-thump!

Bella's scream is wet. It shudders and spikes unevenly, rolling to a pitch that freezes thought and curdles blood. She is singing, Master, do you see? She learned a new song just for auction. It's a tricky song, because she has to hurt herself so much to sing it. It's a tricky song, because it uses noises for notes that people shouldn't be able to make. She screams until her voice shatters to dust. She screams with great, shuddering bursts that crack whenever she chokes on her spit or the blood that won't stop dribbling across her lips. She howls, and her howl is like a wave that only recedes so it can surge again higher than it reached before. 

She fills the Yakanov with pain. She fills the Yakanov with fear. She fills the Yakanov with desperate, yowling terror so intense that it pierces walls and sinks into the whirring gears of machine intelligence. Whether it takes hold or not, it crosses through the halls of the titanic ship like they were purpose built to carry her howl to everyone on board. She screams so horribly it might even reach the planet below, through time and any other barrier that would dare to get in its way. 

She surges forward to a cue that has nothing to do with the music inside of her. Her arms feels sluggish, like it's wrapped in heavy chains tying her in place, or like her claws have to push through an angry river just to reach anything. But she wrenches and, with a snarl, rips the monster in half. Her hand closes around Khitava's arm. The spell breaks. 

Every breath that Bella takes is audible. The scream is the music now, and it dribbles out of her mouth through clenched teeth. Gasping, trembling, rasping. Death. Her shoulders roll sickeningly in directions her sockets weren't built for, tugging the Coherent General along to the rhythm of her sickness. 

"You... you.... you!!!"

This time, the struggle isn't lyrical or beautiful. Bella and Khitava tell the story of the stupid bitch who's going in the box, instead. Her muscles ripple through her fur. With her clothing as torn up as it is, every fresh twist and bulge is easily seen by anybody with the stomach to watch. The two fighters whirl and wheel around each other, pushing and dragging in the struggle for footing. 

Bella's eye is trembling in its socket. Every motion brings another feral grunt of effort, spinning and twisting until Bella's hair is digging into the soil. Matted. Clinging. The box calls. 

And then she spits in Khitva's face. With monstrous strength, she knees her tormentor in the stomach. Again. And again. And again. With a final howl and a twist of her hips, she flings Khitava on top of the bonsai and slams the altar shut on top of her. Her lips twist into a terrible, evil grin.

"No," she dribbles, lifting a hand to wipe her mouth clean, "[i]You[/i] go in there."

She turns away and plants her feet wide, sliding into a fresh battle stance. She doesn't have the luxury of deciding whether the Coherent live or die. Bella's talons sing through the air in place of music for the final dance. What happens to anyone now is up to the gods, but without distance? Without their toys or their tricks? None of them are coming to save their leader. 

And she'll never go back in the box again.

[Finish (with Iron): 1, [s]1[/s], 5 = [b]8[/b]]