She stepped into the damp corner boldly, her boots hiding a firm gap in the marbled floor.
"Oh, shit," Eric muttered, tearing his gaze away from his nemesis. She'd finally caught up with him, and it appeared she wasn't concerned about the situation right now. She glared at Eric, her nostrils flared as she swung her wooden sword lightly in her hand.
Eric knew he couldn't run this time around, so he expected the worst. A painful beating with the military belt, a dreadful thrashing with the wooden sword, or perhaps a curse word, but all Opal said was, "Step back, you pathetic bum. You're lucky I hate this cocky mage more than I hate you."
Eric watched wide-mouthed as she stepped forward to stand directly in front of Styles' ice spears while twisting the training sword playfully. "Did I hear somebody say swordsmen are worthless?" she glared deeply at Styles.
