He was monstrous, seemingly in every sense of the word as shadowy tendrils under his control deflected some of the poisoned caltrops she'd flung towards him at some of her men. A few he'd gotten, but one he hadn't. As she swung at him again his tendrils flung the survivor towards her, causing her to stay her strike to avoid killing her own man, although she very nearly cut him down out of pure rage at the shadow man behind him. Dean had done the honors himself, gutting the man with a dagger and shoving his flailing, dying body towards her. Their eyes met, the general and her subordinate, and although the man was in a state of absolute terror at the prospect of death, the horrors he saw in Methuseld von Ellegarde's eyes came in a close second. With an animalistic roar she shoved the man out of the way, barely breaking stride as she charged Dean.<em>This bastard. Why won't he just DIE!?!</em><br/><br/>Swinging again and again at him and consistently missing, she found herself almost completely forgetting about her goal of wresting Zozo's fox from the thief's hands; alive. Until said fox somehow managed to pry herself loose from his grip and fling herself into Methuseld's arms. So enraged was the general that she almost slashed the fox in two - pure and utter luck saved both Aza's hide and Methuseld's own (if Zozo somehow found out who'd killed her precious fox); somehow the general was able to muster up enough willpower to grab the furry creature instead of kill it. Uncomfortably held up by her armpits in the general's uncaring grasp, Aza had no choice now but to watch the duel from the other perspective, dangling hind quarters swinging to and fro with each powerful twist of the golden warrior's hard body.<br/><br/>Methuseld roared again and again, swinging faster and faster with each passing second. Their duel had created a circle around them, with none of her men willing to interfere or get themselves killed trying to help. Their weapons, his two shadow-cloaked short sorts and her own plain metal longsword, were utter blurs in the flames of the burning building. Methuseld should have stopped, should have gotten out with the fox, but she wanted blood. His blood. The<em>Curse</em>wanted it even worse. And even as it hungered for death, it laughed artfully as it made that cold, unloving general ever so slowly more irresistible to anyone in the room at all capable of finding a woman attractive. Djinns - are, as we all know, ever so fond of the little jokes they play on mortals.<br/><br/>She finally scored a hit on him, however slight. It only egged her on further, only motivated her to seek more. But suddenly something happened. His tendrils disappeared, replaced by a powerful wave of... Something... A sensation Methuseld hadn't felt in a long, long time. She locked eyes with Dean, confused even as she raised her sword (slightly slower than before) for another strike at him. For once, she wasn't sure if she wanted to attack. She was feeling something else besides rage - Dean's magic fighting with the Djinn's, no doubt. A flush flashed across her cheeks - her own arousal this time, not a blush meant to arouse others. And then it all came crashing down. Literally.<br/><br/>A collapsing beam hit Methuseld on the side. She might have jumped at Dean or jumped on him - who knew - but now she was flung sideways, hit against the wall. Another beam came crashing down toward her, but, protected as she was in full plate, she had enough consciousness left in her to dodge it. Aza still safe in the powerful grasp of her non-sword-arm, it was all the general could do to make for the nearest window, leaping out... or trying to... before the world went dark.