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The world began to melt away to blackness as he squeezed down harder, and her hands started to fall away, but it had been enough, and he jerked back and away from the press of her nails against his eyes with a snarl. The first breath she pulled in was painful, and she coughed, almost choking on it as she rolled onto her side and up on her arm, pulling her legs out from under him and away. It would have been lovely if she could have had enough to time to properly relearn how to breath, but Jack was pissed, swinging blindly, and she did not want to be anywhere within his reach when he could see again.

While he screamed at her she drew her leg up, smashing the heel of her foot into the hand that was covering his face. The impact was satisfying, but she couldn't savor it. Instead she scrambled up to her feet, skirting around the coffee table until she came up on him from behind. Her lips was dripping blood onto her shirt, chest burning, and her throat was on fire. It was hard to breath, and she didn't even want to think about talking.

But she could smile.

An evil, ugly little smile twisting along split lips. A hand snaked out while he was still reeling from the jab to his eyes, the kick. She grabbed a handful of his hair, using that impressive Sun strength of her's, and jerked him up high enough for her to smash his face down into the table. Once, twice. As many times as it would take until he stopped ******** moving, or managed to get free of her grip.

This was better. This was satisfying. The solid connection of flesh and bone against wood, the crunch of cartridge as his nose broke, the gargled noises that mixed with the howls of pain - and her favorite, the most satisfying of all, the bite of his nails and the fading strength in his hands as he tried to claw at the hand that tangled in his hair. She laughed at him, dark and awful and happy, channeling the wrath demon bond to her mind. He loved it, this justice, this vengeance.

The flash of his weapon forced her away from him, blade drawing an angry line along her shin, but if he thought she'd just let him crawl away to lick his wounds he didn't deserve the tree on his jacket. "Never underestimate my will to survive, Jack." It wasn't quite as fierce as her desire to protect, but she knew what she was capable of. The trials had been a hard lesson, the battle royal harder still.

The blade dipped, Jack began to teeter, and the lights would go out completely as a delicate foot came in from the side to collide with his temple. When she was sure he wasn't getting up again she dabbed at the split in her lip, wincing at the sting before she retrieved her book from where it had fallen when she'd rolled off the couch.

He'd done a real number her, multiple times now, but she'd done worse, and would continue to do so if he continued to push her. The bruises, every time she looked in the mirror, would be a reminder. Fuel for the fire that was the rage that grew with in her.

A last glance was given to the unconscious Lifer, and she gave a harsh sniff before an unpleasant smile pulled at swelling lips. "Cheater," she tossed down at him, kicking his hand as she walked past him, back down the hall. In the end, the fact that he'd had to summon his weapon to get away from her, was more satisfying than the smear of his blood on the table top where his nose has shattered.