[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/zQXUPoA.png[/img]
[sub][@VitaVitaAR][/sub][/center]
Her opponent went limp to disperse the impact. Like checking a low kick by raising your leg. Like leaping back to absorb a punch.

Their training swords clacked with each other a second time, a parry to check the swing Fanilly used to give herself some distance. She was fast again, fast to recover, fast to respond, lunging forth for another swing. Horizontal once more. No. The wrists were rotating, her edge alignment was off.

[b]“Good.”[/b]

A feint, one that swapped from one side to the other at the very last moment. Serenity could envision it, the pronation of the forearms, the strain of the biceps, to perform a directional change like that. It was a clean move that fought against the very momentum that Fanilly herself had built, all to gain the element of surprise.

A strike with lesser strength, but sufficient speed. Answered by an advance that caught it before the motion completed.

She stepped inwards once more, entangling herself into the fray. The longsword skid against the rim of the shield that caught, then guided it into the one-handed sword. A static block, locking both in place. Setting it up for Serenity's next step inwards, placing both combatants into a distance where neither blade was fully useful.

Now, it was a contest of strength, of attrition.

The lioness pushed outwards. Pushed to break Fanilly’s stance, before launching into a flurry of quick blows that sought to test her response to attacks upon every conceivable part of her body, from her head to her chest to her arm to her fingers to her legs.