"For?" 

Sayanastia has never formed a heartblade before. In all the ages of this world, all the battles with Heron, that was a technique she had always left upon the table. A matter of ideology, or pride, or even an aversion to admitting that she had a heart to wield. Stubbornness.

Pointless stubbornness.

Look at all this [i]power[/i].

"It is not for Heron," said Sayanastia, raising her kanabō. The lightning spokes reached out and grasp Aadya, pinning her in her wrists, her hips, her ankles, and lifting her from her feet into the air. There is no need to aim. Sayanastia swings her kanabō with all her might and her opponent is dragged directly into its path at the apex of the strike, with no stone beneath her feet to ground the strike into. Yuki might think that the cumulative effect is akin to a cricketeer striking a ball thrown her way. "No, not her. She has seen me at my worst too many times. My worst and my greatest - she has seen me devouring the sun, and has seen the last of my lifeblood ooze away into the mud. I have nothing to say to her, and she evidently has nothing to say to me."

"Nor is it for Civelia," Sayanastia continues thoughtfully. There is a profound experience to how she speaks and fights at the same time, timing each motion to ensure she never needs to hurry her words or her thoughts. She raises the kanabō and slashing arcs of electricity strike out to snatch Olesya's arrows from the air. One by one they whirl around behind Sayanastia, orbiting behind her head while still aglow with toxic violet light, until they begin to burn together into a wicked halo. "She will not see any of this. She may hear about it later, perhaps decades later when she reincarnates. And will she be impressed then? I doubt it - no more than she is already." The halo shatters and the full spread of arrows blasts back towards Olesya, screaming with the shattering might of the void.

"Nor is it for you," she said, turning her lidded eyes to Yuki. What a terrible thing, to have the full attention of a being like this. Your axe crashes against her club to no effect; it is as solid as the bones of a cathedral, and again and again she orients her wrist so that all the shock of impacts falls upon that dragon's claw rendered into the shape of a hand. "As I said, I intend only your destruction." 

She caught her warclub half way with her second hand, and with a shift of pose and stance it seems to now be a sorcerer's staff. A violet orb emerges from the tip, glowing like an eye - and then it discharges a catastrophic blast of lightning. Lightning, lightning, lightning. She could not get away from it, could not deny it - this was her Heartblade and its presence spoke undeniable truth. And the truth of her heart was simply this:

"I am becoming beautiful for beauty's sake," she said to herself in the aftershock, almost inaudible over the ringing thunder in the air. "Heron is not always beautiful. Some of our battles were clumsy, amateurish things, disasters of scroll and potion and hours of sweat and blood. But sometimes, the way she fought me - the way she moved, the speed, the precision - where my defeat was not only inevitable but [i]incidental[/i], where failure was measured not in blood but in [i]seconds[/i]."

She hefted her kanabō over her shoulder, resting both of her arms atop it, looking around the room for what challengers remained. "She was fighting for something more pure than love. More pure than hate. More pure than the defense of the world. More pure than its destruction. I see what it was now, and once you have seen it, how could you not love it? How could you not want to chase it? And my pride," she runs her fingers along the sharp square lines of her club sensually, "was but the first obstacle the pursuit shall cost me."