Freya advances.
The ice scythe doesn't come like the rapier. No thin line, no testing, no thrust hunting for a gap. The weapon spins between her fingers with absolute fluidity, the haft sliding across her palm before locking into the right grip. The first blow comes from the outside in, wide, heavy, aimed at the side of Undertow as if the shield were an old door she meant to tear off its hinges.
Veric takes it.
The impact crosses the metal and enters his body. I see his left knee bend more than it should. His boot sinks into the dirt of the circle, opening a short furrow. Undertow holds the blade, but it doesn't cancel the force. Nothing cancels force for free. The body behind the defense always pays something.
Freya doesn't stop to admire the result.
