"Your snake bitch squealed such a beautiful tone after the initial resistance broke, Villain."
Ragnar scraped the words between strikes, aiming for the mental wound that had been steering Quinlan's output for a dozen exchanges. "Want me to tell you what my boys did to her before the goblins got their little grubby hands on her?"
[Soul Reaper] scored the gap beneath Ragnar's collarbone with three elements behind the edge, and the strike landed cleaner than anything Quinlan had thrown in the last twenty exchanges because patience had placed it into the healing seam's narrowest point.
He cycled to the next angle before the cut finished sealing.
Ragnar's grin faltered. That provocation had always drawn fire, and the fire wasn't coming.
He tried twice more, filth about Black Fang followed by promises about the fate of his women, each one aimed at a wall that hadn't been there thirty seconds ago.
