He saw the confidence in her body when he came at her with his arm raised. She'd been built for this kind of skirmish, after all, and in theory fisticuffs should buy her more time than the abrupt workings of their blades. It gave him utter satisfaction to prove her wrong. Admittedly, her dodging was adept, but she didn't brawl with his kind often. It was erotic to send waves of punishment into her lesser armored guts. Her gargled complaint made him hard beneath the leather of his pants. Her reaching hands hoping to ward off the gauntlet that had bitten into her horn looked appropriately helpless, and she was thrown out of her pace with the hard rattling he brought to her brain by tossing her head back and forth by his grip.<br/><br/>The leather of her center armor was soft on his human knuckles, and made it easy to deal harsh treatment again and again. He thought he felt her stomach rearrange for him. She bowed as low as he wanted, and gave him distance when the shove of his foot demanded. It didn't fell her, though, which was impressive. He took a few expert breaths to repay the debt in oxygen he'd used, and watched her with his shoulders vast, while she tried to build herself up from her knees. The way she hugged herself made him want to slaughter her, or fuck her gently. She looked like she would appreciate either. He laughed with his men when she put her insides onto the ground, but his was in accomplishment while theirs was in glee.<br/><br/>True to her obvious scheme, she gathered herself upright. Rysalt held his arms out in question, which further entertained his troop. Then he came closer, and picked up her fallen scimitar on his way, for further insult. He tilted his head in sympathy as he kept out of reach for her arms, and casually slashed to open up the skin of her wings between the flight-bones, to make them useless for flight. He circled her with this until they were in rags. He'd toss the sword back, the animal head in silver unclasping it from its teeth to melt into his own blade again.<br/><br/>"That's all you get." he replied at last as he moved in closer, quickly, and stuck the sword into her side. His soldiers moaned in complaint at the apparent end of the battle, but when he drew the sword out its blade was comically short, and nothing accompanied its leaving, no gore, but for a leather strap keeping the metal to her chest. If nothing fiery kept him at bay, he would easily catch any fist she'd throw at him while stripping her of her equipment. With his advantaged in health, and thereby speed and possibly raw strength, she'd have very little to say about her eventual nudity. He was sure his men were curious as to the anatomy of a famous half breed. He wasn't immune to this excitement, but he mostly needed to reduce her further. At every chance, he'd play with her horns since they seemed a sensitive part of her ego.<br/><br/>Unless she made him defend against some willed field of fire, which might have stopped him from even getting at her wings, he'd curl his arm into another merciless body-blow to fold her over. She'd be on her knees and he could turn her to look the way she came. There'd be battered friends there. Most of them were unhurt but frightened, with a row of well polisher soldiers between them. The kind of armor you might find on someone from the capitol. Rysalt would hold her by her horn and let her stare her defeat, naked and beaten. The vision of their fareless would-be martyr would incinerate the last of their hopes, surely.<br/><br/>"My friends from the capitol." he introduced. "You should have listened to my story to avoid this. Or, rather, in order to avoid your fate, you should simply not have been born."