Sigrid's body was screaming at her. Every muscle ached with a deep, bone-weary fatigue that made each movement feel like wading through honey.
Her eyes kept trying to blur, the world swimming in and out of focus.
Her hands were trembling uncontrollably, the fingers that had gripped a blade since childhood now struggling to maintain their hold.
And yet she continued to fight.
"Ahhhhh!"
CLANG! TING! TONG! CLANG!
Blow after blow, strike after strike, she pressed her assault against Luca with a desperate attention.
Her eyes darted across his form, searching for any weakness, any gap, any momentary lapse that she could exploit.
She had already fought him more times than she could count—far more than any other centaur present and she had learned from every single defeat.
She was adapting. Evolving. Trying desperately to find some combination of angle and timing and force that would finally break through his impenetrable defense.
