[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/zQXUPoA.png[/img] [sub][@Raineh Daze][/sub][/center] At his words, Serenity simply gave him a look. If it was a mistake to disarm an opponent, if it was a mistake to even bother injuring an opponent, then what, exactly, was one supposed to do against the foul denizens of the dark? Well, from the perspective of someone who had so heartily acclimated to that other side, perhaps that was simply the way things ought to be. There were, after all, immortal monstrosities that even now are better left alone than challenged. Far too many, in truth. A host of crones possessed with the high-minded arrogance that their age-addled minds granted them. Someone ought to cast them from their lofty thrones, someone ought to return them to the history books that they belong to. As Damon continued with his theatrics, Serenity simply staked her shortsword through the dismembered hand. Watched it twitch and bleed, writing like the disconnected thing it was, as he began his puppeteering. Blood turned to flame, and flame melted steel into slag, burning with such intensity that dwarven forgemasters would question the purpose of coal and bellows. She could imagine now, where his confidence in facing against the Paladin stemmed from. A magical flame that could melt metal like wax was certainly a more effective weapon against an immortal than a greatsword. All the better then, that it was Serenity here rather than Tyaethe. Her shortsword was lost in the pursuit of knowledge. Her mace laid beyond her reach. Three daggers and a hatchet. Enough for a mortal foe but worthless against a vampire. As she was, there was no hope of catching him if he sought to maintain distance, and considering his predilections, his confidence in his immortality, his boiling blood would always earn him more in an exchange of blows. But she was resolved for that. Dust sifted from the ceiling. Those three were still fighting, against a foe not nearly so insurmountable as this one. Wind whispered through the gap. Those four were still advancing, purging what evil lurked within the crypt. Another bolt sang through the air, its trajectory read at a glance. She shuffled through the tomb now, slipping past the thrust of the flaming longsword. A dagger swept out against the line of blood that connected the severed hand to Damon's arm, but as one may have expected, a reconnection was established within the instance of a breath. Parrying was no longer possible, and if the sword could pass through tempered steel without pause, armor was useless, no matter the price one paid for it. Even the air itself was heating up, the dampness of the crypt replaced by the heat of a sauna, and freed from the limitations of elbow and shoulder, from even the necessity of requiring proper edge alignment, the flying sword became an opponent like none else. It was an [i]experience[/i] like none else. Serenity no longer left room for thought. She weaved and slid, daggers flashing to buy instances of reprieve as her mind burned at the sheer focus that her task required. The vampire lurked in the corners of her vision, arbalest loading and firing in concert with the nonsensical movements of the blood-flame sword. She reacted in turn, sound still surpassing the swiftness of the bolts, giving her enough time to instinctively shift out of the way of both blows. Patterns emerged within those eternal seconds, the flex and flux of the bloodline hinting at future directions of hand and sword. Pinpricks of pain pulsed up and down her joints, protests at the frenetic duress she placed them under. Sweat stung eyes that she could not afford to close. Blood trickled down from her nose and stained her lips. Another appeared, a proper demon, but she had no reason to acknowledge them now. Names slotted themselves into her memory, phrases stored away for future contemplation. Now, however, it was a challenge alone to evade. ... And yet, evade she did. Serenity did not advance, but as seconds crawled onwards in the death-dance of blood and body, of conflagration and circumstance, she also did not truly retreat. Even now, her pride remained. Even now, she stood at the center of the chamber. Even now, the tombs and statues of the departed Cazt remained unscathed, except for marks left by errant arrows.