But the mace clashed against something before it could hit him. It was the long grip of his scythe that seemed to appear when he needed it.
“I don’t wanna hurt you but this seems to be the only way to make you are about your body.” He argued before trying to strike with his other hand.
“I don’t give a shit what happens to me.” She returns in a deadpan. “But at least a fight can get my blood boiling. That is, if you don’t die too easily.”
She leaps back, and the scythe drives into her wall. That gives her pause, and she frowns, looking unhappy with that. Still, moving forward, she swings her ball-and-chain mace at him again as a pistol appears in her free hand and, mercilessly, she fires it at his chest.