Bathed in the green glow of her flames, Herah reached towards the warm blood running down her stomach and inwardly cursed.
Merde! Blood stains are hard as ash to get out of green. Gonna need Jeffery for this as well.
The artist looked up to Rose, who stood three feet away and looked down upon her. The teacher’s expression was taut, and her kunzite eyes glowed green. Herah couldn’t tell exactly what went through Rose’s mind in the moment, but the artist knew her teacher wasn’t going to back down now.
Neither would Herah.
Rose lifted four fingers.
“I’ll give myself four handicaps for you.”
“You think me weak?” the artist asked.
Herah leaned back slightly as her teacher leaned down till their horns touched. A grin marked the artist, a glare marked Rose.
“Who bares their fangs when crushing ants?" the teacher asked.
Herah’s grin faltered. The artist knew any limitation Rose gave made her slim chance of victory ever more possible. Yet, Herah couldn’t ignore how traditions considered holding back against another Cendreux an insult. Something Rose undoubtedly knew.
Another sign of mutual respect being gone.
Rose leaned back up and waved her four raised fingers in the artist’s face.
“The four limits are: I will use neither my fire nor Science to assist in your defeat. My speed will not eclipse your max speed, only match or go slower. Any damage dealt to me; I will not heal. And if you tear out my heart or I go back on any of the earlier conditions, I’ll admit defeat.”
Every limit listed punctuated one of Rose’s fingers dropping. Once the last one went down, the teacher stood silent, clearly waiting for some response.
Herah said nothing, instead taking a deep breath and letting her grin come back.
No healing, no fire, no science, and no speed. All you have left is your brute strength and natural durability to win, Rose. Those two alone would be enough for you to easily pound an étincelle my age into mush and leave them with but a spark as their flame. But I’m not any other étincelle, I’m strong.
“Easy win,” the artist said, letting out her breath and entering a stance. Her knees bent and legs spread apart, left sliding forth and right sliding back to make sharp movements either way smooth. Herah raised her left arm and bent her elbow till her hand sat slightly extended towards Rose, fingers straight and palm turned to the side for quick attacks and deflecting. The artist moved her right arm back, keeping it straight as it hung behind with her hand in a claw shape for gouging and slashing attacks. A black talon popped out of every finger and toe, each with a synchronized burst of green flames which swirled around the tips of her claws like drills.
“We’ll see,” Rose responded. The teacher stood straight and tossed her two-ertèmasstick into her right hand before leaning on her ruler. Rose raised her left hand till it matched with the artist’s own, her palm towards Herah, hovering a few inches to the side of her own chest. “Now let me feel a punch. I need to gauge your speed.”
The artist didn’t respond, choosing instead to close her eyes and think for a moment.
With Rose so much older than me, I can’t rely on my physical strength alone to deal even a scratch. I’ll need my fire for that. If I want to get my hits in proper, I’ll need to control my speed. And if I want to avoid taking too many hits from Rose, I’ll have to smell her intentions. Fire and speed are already set, so let’s get back my smell.
Eyes still closed and nodding to herself, Herah inhaled deeply. The green flames that filled the room came rushing back and flowed up into her nostrils. As the artist absorbed her fire, her nose could only smell an ever thin whiff of smoke floating right underneath it. Focusing on this smell, it grew thicker.
And thicker.
And thicker.
Until suddenly, a host of smells registered within Herah’s mind.
The first scents to hit pervaded Rose’s class; the ever faint and mysterious smells of fresh blood and raw fat. The mystery came from the rarity of spilled blood inside the room, and the fact only one person in the academy carried or ate fat.
Le Froid hasn’t visited since our Deal formed.
No student nor teacher knew why Rose’s room smelled like this, or if they did, they were unwilling to tell the artist when asked. Rose only ever smiled and shook her head whenever confronted about it.
Rose’s scent hit Herah’s nose next. Unique in its blend, the teacher smelled naturally like a mix of something spicy, reminiscent of the rare scent of cinnamon, and something wet, like wet hair. The artist always found her teacher’s odor oddly familiar, like a memory that didn’t fit. At least, the core of Rose’s scent. One’s scent consisted of many parts after all, the teacher also smelt of an ever faint ash all Cendreux had to them and—
Herah’s nose wrinkled as it caught the whiff of something weird mingled in with her teacher’s scent. Something sharp and powerful, similar to vinegar. The artist, while familiar with the smell, thought it didn’t stand out like it normally should amongst all the others.
Far too faint.
This smell was fear, an odd version of it at least.
Herah frowned, unsure what to make of the smell. It felt odd not just in of itself but coming from Rose, unnatural even. In all the time they’d known one another, the artist never smelt fear from her teacher. Not when Rose fought those hundreds or thousands of years older, nor when the teacher stood in the presence of Herah’s father or the principal.
Rose made others feel fear, never should the teacher herself feel it. Rose wasn’t meant to feel like this.
Why? What’s gotten into you? Is there something wrong?
“Herah?”
The artist opened her eyes and focused back on Rose, whose scent had gained extra hints of something sharp and spicy. Thanks to its faintness, Herah knew Rose felt annoyed and not angry.
“Y-yeah?” the artist responded.
Rose raised a brow, her scent gaining a whiff of greasiness. Confusion at Herah’s response.
“Are you going to punch my hand, or was that challenge of yours a jest?”
The artist shook her head, her anger spiking as jets of green flames spewed from her nose. Whatever reason Rose bled fear wasn’t important now. The teacher had insulted Herah and La Flamme and would pay in blood for it.
I’ll ask after I win.
Mind set, the artist locked eyes with Rose and snarled.
“Why punch your hand?”
Herah lunged at Rose, stabbing past her teacher’s raised palm and into her chest. Blood spurt from the wound, pelting the artist’s face and stabbing into the floor.
Rose gritted her teeth, clutched Herah’s wrist with her freehand, then squeezed. Scale, flesh, and bone snapped under her grip.
A hot flash of pain shot up the artist’s arm, but Herah ignored it to clench her finger’s around Rose’s heart.
It beat in her grasp.
Before her heart could be torn out and in one fluid motion, Rose leaned off her two-ertèmasstick and took it into her right hand. A single swing, and the ruler snapped up in an arc.
The artist’s arm split seamlessly at the elbow.
Biting her tongue to keep silent, Herah reared back then slammed the stump of her elbow into the back of her dismembered arm. Green flames burst from the wound, reattaching her limb.
Before the artist could act on this, Rose brought her right arm back down. Her two-ertèmasstick cleaved through Herah’s arm again.
Then, Rose snapped her foot into the artist’s chest and sent her student flying. Herah flew out the classroom, silently shattering a window.
BOOM!
KRSSH!
Sound finally caught up with the pair as the sonic boom from the artist’s and Rose’s furious exchange blew out the rest of the classroom windows and flung a few of the lighter chairs out of the building.
Soaring through the air, Herah flexed a particular set of muscles along her spine. Leathery red wings, like a bat’s if supersized for a Cendreux, unfurled from her back. With one strong flap, the artist halted her momentum and sent out gusts of wind. Subsequent weaker flaps kept her flying.
Typical of the season of Chutecendres, black and grey ash now swarmed Herah’s sight. Millions of tiny flecks gently rained down around the artist as the red sky tinged with smog held her body within its toxic nest. Even with the visual clutter, the artist could make out Noir E Blanc Academy, a building of pristine steel. Just a few feet away and a little over a hundred seventy-five feet tall, the building sat atop a hill, of which’s edge Herah now flew over. A few of her classmates, with their next class not starting for at least thirty minutes, were flying around outside and above the building like birds of prey ready to pounce. However, instead of hunting they played, letting out weak blast of yellow flames at one another and laughing with glee. Some even paused to look at the artist but were quick to turn their attention elsewhere when met with a glare.
Ignoring her classmates, Herah looked back down and watched Rose as the teacher strolled up to the broken window the artist had flown through. Two-ertèmasstick clutched by her right, Rose’s left hand held up Herah’s own handless arm. The teacher grinned up at the artist.
“You give up your limb too easily, child. Consider me letting you have it back a gift.” Rose tossed Herah her arm. “And do please move faster, acting slow will only cost you. Amount of fire you had to use to block my kick couldn’t have been cheap. I will commend you on choosing blocking though, you kids often forget that you burn through your fire quicker regrowing bones and scales over anything else.”
The artist snatched her arm from the air with a growl, before glancing down to her chest where Rose’s kick landed. Faint smoke from the green flames Herah summoned in the literal fraction of a second before Rose’s foot touched her breast floated up. Alongside this, the artist could feel the warmth in her chest now noticeably cooled. Once an inferno barely kept inside, it now felt like a pyre. Still large and powerful, just so much smaller than before.
Fuck, the force of that kick would’ve turned my chest to vapor. I could probably only block seven more hits from Rose. Can’t waste them on nothing.
Herah didn’t outwardly emote but grinned internally under the anger still raging within.
Good thing that wasn’t a waste. Mach twenty-two. That’s how fast you’ve pegged me. Two Machs faster than the fastest of my class, nowhere near my starting or max speed. Insulting you think me that slow, but good to know.
The artist matched the cut ends of her left elbow again and fire burnt at the wound till her arm reattached. Though rude of Rose to return her limb, Herah felt a sliver of thankfulness at not having to regenerate those bones and scales.
Speaking of which, the artist could feel the warmth in her chest dip slightly as green flames burned her new hand into reality. Flexing her restored fingers, Herah looked at Rose’s chest. There the artist saw her old hand wrapped tightly around her teacher’s still-beating heart.
I can use that.
“Going to let me heal?”
“Of course. No matter the condition of your body, you won’t beat me.”
Herah glared, her eyes glowing from the fire raging behind them.
“You’ll see.”
“Already have.”
The artist leaned forward to renew her attack, then paused for a moment to think.
Rushing in right now will just end with me back out here. Info gathering first.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Herah inhaled deeply, quickly filtering out the trillions of smells that came from being outside till only Rose’s registered in her mind. This time, the artist didn’t care about what emotions her teacher reeked of but how her scent in its entirety shifted.
Just like momma taught us. Every shift is for a reason, be it changing emotions, focus, or other shit, everyone’s scent naturally and constantly shifts. The strongest shifts, always come with physical actions. So, what will you do next, Rose?
But Rose’s scent shifted in no meaningful way.
You’re waiting for me then? Herah exhaled, causing green flames to spew from her mouth, eyes, nose, and every unscaled part of her body from the bottom half of her face to her torso. The fire wrapped around the artist, transforming into a flame shroud that burnt away the ash collecting atop her head and shoulders. You’re too cautious, Rose.
Just before Herah could attack, the artist saw something faint and black appear right behind her teacher. Fuzzy and hard to look at, Herah could’ve sworn her eyes saw a hand beckoning herself forth.
One blink, and nothing was there.
What the fuck?
Waiting a few more seconds for the hand to reappear, the artist glanced around with a frown. When it didn’t come back, Herah shook her head.
I’m seeing shit, ash-fall is always riddled with illusions. Now, time to attack.
The artist pulled her wings back in a long and drawn out motion then snapped them forth. A wave of green fire peeled off her wings and seared through the sky, burning towards Rose faster than sound.
The teacher raised both arms over her chest in a hasty guard. Flames slammed into her form as a torrent, green fire flooding every other window as Rose planted her feet against the onslaught.
But that was only a set up.
Herah used the cover of her attack to launch herself forward with a single, powerful flap. The artist flew like a meteor, flames trailing behind. Then, just a foot away from her teacher, Herah flipped into a dropkick and slammed feet first into Rose’s guard.
An explosion of green engulfed the pair, sweeping the classroom.
Rose flew back, pulverizing a student’s desk and shearing through her own before smashing through her magnetite board and out into the hallway. The artist flipped back into a slide, stopping near the edge of the shattered windows.
BOOM!
Sound caught up once again, Herah forced to hunch over and dig her claws into the floor as a shockwave swept the room and shattered all the remaining desks and chairs.
The air sparkled with gemstone particles, a rainbow haze and scattered papers filling the air. The floors and walls all glowed pink, the Cendreuxah marking them crawling as the letters finished absorbing what energy they could from the last shockwave.
A Theory at work.
While the practice of heretics, Sciences does have its uses. Good thing you decided to forgo using it during this fight, Rose.
Speaking of, the artist looked out of the hole her teacher flew through and found Rose indented in a lone and now crushed silver locker. Two-ertèmasstick still in hand and arms still raised, smoke wafted off her scuffed up scales. Otherwise, the teacher appeared unharmed.
Herah frowned.
Merde! Even with the force of green fire, I can’t get through your scales. Maybe if I went hotter? Or are you too old for me to damage your scales? How old do you have to be to be too tough again? A thousand cycles? Five hundred? Fuck, should’ve learned that before picking this fight. Let’s assume I probably won’t be able to get through to any bone that isn’t the skull. Body and head shots are all I got.
The artist stood up and shook her head, shaking off the annoyance to let a grin form.
That’s okay, all bets just go to hitting you open up your chest.
“I swear to my mom, you assholes better not be fucking up my locker!”
Herah’s eyes snapped to a now open doorway about twenty feet to the right of Rose. In it stood a Cendreux with skin the color of cheddar cheese and scales like sphene gems. The young silex snarled, moving a thick mop of blonde hair from his eyes as orange flames flared from his mouth and nose, and his tail whipped about behind him.
The student froze at the sight of the artist and Rose.
Jaunecend Shape Jej, Herah thought, annoyed at the interruption and who was interrupting. The second-best artist at this school, and most annoying student.
“Oh shit.”
Jauncend’s flames dispersed, the student turning around and shouting,
“Herah and Feu Rose are fighting! Herah’s gonna get her ass kicked!”
The artist’s ears twitched, hearing the muffled sounds of surprised gasps, chairs sliding, and feet padding before the golden door twenty or so feet to Rose’s left slid open. Both doorways soon filled with hyper students, all fighting and pushing against one another to get a look.
Herah refused to look at the iridescent crowd watching, her eyes focusing purely on Rose who lowered her guard and laid her two-ertèmasstick across her lap. But while the artist’s eyes paid no mind, her nose couldn’t help but pick up the scents of her peers.
A deluge of smells, each unique blend representing one of the students now watching her fight. But amongst all these differing scents existed a commonality.
A sweet and warm smell similar to freshly baked cookies.
This smell was joy.
Everyone now watching, happily thought of the artist losing to Rose. Shifting through the scents even revealed to Herah the teacher of the class, an acier by the name of Or, among those feeling this way.
The artist, while insulted, felt no need to care for what they thought. Like Vertcend, none of their opinions mattered. Herah held no respect for them. The only person whose thoughts the artist cared for right now was Rose.
And the teacher still reeked of her weird fear.
Ignoring the cheers for her failure and boos at the thought of her success, Herah focused all her senses on Rose. Everyone else bled away till only her teacher remained, staring blankly back at the artist.
“You were quicker that time,” Rose whispered, not blinking, “Around Mach twenty-eight. But your fire and kick came at me at the same speed.”
“So?” Herah asked in her own whisper.
“It takes the average Cendreux eight to ten seconds to get their body to max speed. Our flames don’t have that limitation.”
“So?”
Rose glared.
“I know you’re faster.”
The artist grinned.
“But not how fast.”
Rose grinned back.
“Crafty child, you are.”
“You were wondering?”
“With you? Of course.”
Herah glared before turning her eyes onto her chattering peers.
“None of you get in the way, or you’re next.”
“Better yet,” Rose cut in, turning her own glare to an acier of golden scales and skin as yellow as the moon, “Or, get back to teaching your fucking students. Seeing as I won’t be using Science in this fight, I don’t see how a Geology class will be able to glean much from our battle. So, piss off and get back to work, unless you want to fight with me next.”
The students and teacher flinched before Or turned to her class and started ordering them all back to work. The golden doors marking her classroom slid shut once more, leaving Rose and the artist alone again.
“Getting up?” Herah asked, before dropping to all fours and spreading her wings out above herself.
“Don’t need to be standing to beat you.” Rose responded, legs out and laid straight, right hand on her two-ertèmasstick, and ass still on the steel floor of the hallway.
Cunt.
The artist dug her claws into the padded floor of Rose’s classroom once more, putting her weight on her legs and pulling back on her arms to put herself into a pouncing stance. Her aura of green flames thinned, so as to not waste any more fire than needed. Ready to attack, Herah sniffed the air for Rose’s scent and found no meaningful shifts.
Your loss.
Before the artist could attack, Herah caught sight of the weird fuzzy arm again, right over Rose’s head. It felt oddly familiar as it beckoned her entirety forth once more.
Come.
The artist froze, not hearing this order verbally or in her head. Instead, Herah felt it in her core, more a sensation than a word. The order felt similar to Rose’s scent, another memory that didn’t fit.
What is this?
The artist blinked and the fuzzy hand was gone. Glancing at Rose, Herah neither saw nor smelled any reaction from her teacher.
Are you using Kapnosology right now? I’m not smelling smoke from you. Is this someone else? Who tho-
“I’m waiting, child.”
The artist blinked and found Rose glaring.
Herah shook her head.
Not important now, it can wait. Rose wouldn’t set those conditions just to ignore them and lose anyway. We both know a loss like that is intolerable. Focus on getting the heart!
The artist flung herself forward, flapping her wings for a boost and flying out of the classroom into the hallway. On top of the teacher in the blink of an eye, Herah reared her right arm back then stabbed at Rose’s head.
The teacher leaned to the artist’s right, causing her arm to pierce the wall and melt through the back of Jauncend’s locker and into the gold of Or’s classroom.
Rose’s skull, only a little to the side, Herah swung her arm to the right. The teacher ducked under the attack as it burned a clean line through the steel wall of the hallway.
With the artist leaning over, Rose rolled into a ball before springing up in a one-handed handstand. Herah whipped her head back, nearly clipped by the teacher’s rising double-kick. Rose hopped from her handstand and into a flip, snapping her legs down in one clean arc. The artist stepped to the right as her teacher’s attack dented the steel floor.
Back on her feet and two-ertèmasstick still in her right hand, Rose lashed out with a series of stabs and slashes. Reading her teacher’s shifting scent, Herah ducked and weaved around the strikes, metal tearing behind and beneath her feet at every missed attack.
When the artist saw and smelt an opening, Herah stepped into Rose’s guard and stabbed at her teacher’s exposed chest.
Suddenly increasing her speed, Rose smacked the stab to the side with her freehand. Knocked off balance by the speed and force of the deflect, the artist stood open to her teacher’s two-ertèmasstick slamming into the side of her ribs.
Herah blasted off her feet and down hundreds of feet of hallway. The steel walls, floor and ceiling passed in blur before Rose appeared clear over the artist, wings spread and two-ertèmasstick raised above her head.
Herah frantically crossed her arms over her face, just as Rose’s two-ertèmasstick came down like an anvil.
The force of the strike launched the artist down. Not into the fourth floor’s floor, but down the flight shaft used to get between all five levels of the school.
Herah’s back burrowed into the ground floor, warping the steel to her body's outline. Wincing in pain, the artist saw Rose over a hundred feet above, gravity not yet pulling her form down. Her two-ertèmasstick pointed down at Herah.
Oh, this is going to suck.
The teacher leaned towards the artist and flapped her wings.
BOOM!
Just as the shockwave from their fourth-floor exchange reached her, Rose shot down the shaft like a bullet through a gun barrel. Herah wrenched herself up, and, not having time to do anything else, crossed her arms over her head again right before Rose spun into an overhead strike and brought her two-ertèmasstick down. The force of the attack was so great, the artist fell to a knee.
BOOM!
The walls reverberated and lit up with grey Cendreuxah as another sonic boom dented and bounced off the metal. Both the artist and Rose winced at the warbling song surrounding them on all sides, blood leaking from both of their ears. Herah couldn’t care much for this, still struggling against Rose pushing down on her arms.
Fuck, you’re too strong! the artist thought as Rose forced her other knee to the ground. Herah’s flame aura had flared up again, most of the green fire concentrated in her arms. Internally, the artist felt her flame dampen from a pyre into a campfire. It still had power behind it, but it wasn’t burning as hot now. I can definitely only take four more hits.
“Doing alright, child?” Rose asked her question with a grin, “Want me to let up?”
“Let up?” Herah snarled. “You insult me enough!”
Rose leaned forward, the artist forced to bend her head back as their horns touched. It was like Herah had already been forced to yield, and the pair were just acting out their struggle.
An infuriating thought.
“Pride even at this point?” Rose asked.
The artist scoffed.
“Pride makes a Cendreux.”
Rose gave Herah an amused look.
“No, it doesn’t."
The artist blinked.
Odd, Herah thought, raising her brow.
Not just Rose’s response but her demeanor, both were odd. The teacher stunk of her weird fear still but acted like it wasn’t there. With how intense emotions were for the Cendreux, to show no outward sign of something so strongly felt normally required centuries of experience or self-control beyond that of a prodigy.
Then again, you’re a Cendre Née like Mom and Dad. Those of us born directly from ash are always unique even amongst the rest.
The artist, feeling her arms buckle further, shook her head.
Fight now, worry about Rose’s weirdness later. Next move, next move. What is my next move?
Sniffing Rose’s scent once more, Herah detected no shifts again. The teacher seemed happy to wait this out and let the artist waste more flames sitting here.
That is one of your advantages, not needing to worry about wasting the strength of your fire. You can just tear through me with that stupid two-ertèmasstick—
Herah grinned, struck both by realization and a plan.
Taking a deep breath, the fire surrounding the artist’s arms dissipated.
Rose’s full weight came down, her two-ertèmasstick cleaving through Herah’s raised limbs and splitting her body from head to toe.
You can’t deal as much damage using such a thin weapon, Rose.
Non-bothered by her dismemberment and bisection, the artist focused her attention inward towards a pocket located to the right of her heart. Held within, a small green flame burned. Feeling it, Herah thought of the fire heating up. It shifted from green to blue to indigo. With a single thought and before her split arms could even start to fall, indigo flames poured from the artist’s chest and took shape as a massive hand.
Unexpectedly overextended, Rose hastily covered her head and chest as the burning hand slammed into, wrapped around, and carried her body through the entrance of the flight shaft.
With a thought and flick of a disembodied wrist, Herah combusted the fire hand and veered Rose’s trajectory rightwards through another steel wall.
BOOM!
Sooner than the artist liked, another shockwave resounded throughout the metal shaft, bleeding her ears more as her split body started to fall apart.
Without her command, strands of indigo flames shot from her splitting halves and falling limbs and connected them before they could fall too far apart. The flames pulled Herah’s body back together before another indigo flame burned around the cuts and destroyed the damage incurred.
Fully healed, the artist rose to her feet, re-furled her wings, and took stock of her flame again. As with normal fire, the hotter her flame burnt the quicker it would fade. Having upped her fire from its fourth to second hottest state for a single attack and some light healing, Herah wasn’t surprised feeling her flame now like a waning campfire just waiting to shrink down to a match light.
That means I’m down to only two more hits I can block.
The artist huffed in annoyance before glancing around the flight shaft. Thanks to the soft, white glow of the back wall, Herah could see most potential damage from her and Rose’s clashes prevented thanks to the Theory covering the walls and floor. This theory for some reason did not extend to the floor of which the artist’s mold bore into with a few fragments of steel surrounding it. Herah eyed this steel, feeling her stomach grumble.
Helpful amount to regain, though not as much as I’d like.
The artist plucked a few metal shards off the floor, holding the thin but long scraps between her fingers. With practiced ease, Herah unhinged her jaw, tossed the handful of metal into her mouth, and began chewing.
The sound of metal shearing and crunching filled the artist’s skull. Thanks to a combination of her chewing, saliva, and the volcanic heat of her mouth, Herah molten steel quickly formed between her teeth and atop her tongue. It tasted metallic, especially coppery, though copper always had a more overpowering taste than most metals. That overpowering nature made the metal her least favorite to find in any alloy.
No point in complaining about taste in a fight.
The artist swallowed the liquid metal, feeling it flow down her throat and into her stomach before being swarmed and consumed by fire.
Meat, metal, and flames. These three things fed the fires of all Cendreux to keep them alive and well. As her fire absorbed the metal, Herah felt her flame regain enough of its strength to feel like a freshly stoked campfire again.
Back to four hits. Now, let’s-
The artist paused, noticing an odd, pink sparkle to the air. Sniffing it, Herah caught a whiff of Rose’s scent and realized what floated before herself now.
Scale-dust! My indigo flames managed to damage her scales, the artist thought with a grin, Hmm, if I charged them up more, I could probably get through the bone as well. In that case, I charge up an indigo blast then blow through Rose’s arms to get to her heart. It’ll be a bit hard to set up without her notice, especially since my last hit was only eight Machs slower than my starting speed. But if I fire the attack at point blank range, even Rose matching its speed, won’t be able to stop it in time.
Herah grinned to herself and looked to her right hand. With a simple thought and a balling of her fist, the artist felt hot fire flow from its pocket and into her heart before traveling through her bloodstream and down into her right palm and clenched fingers. An indigo tint colored the red scales of her fist.
My victory is ensured.