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Nothing she did was working effectively, not against his erratic, sloppy style--could it even be called that? He'd gone down with the shove, tumbling over, but was back on his feet in the blink of an eye, and on the offensive again. Another hard kick to her ankle, boot connecting painfully enough to pull a sound from the dancer that was equal parts pain and fury. Was he aiming for her ankles I purpose?

Anger surged through the petite woman's small body, and she let it carry her forward, lithe frame rotating as she moved, to throw a heavy handed left and right hook at the obnoxious lieutenant's angled jaw line.

HP: 4
DMG: 6

Close. She had to be close now. Just a few more good hits, and the mouthy lieutenant would be down and out, and she would be free to move onto the finals. That last blow had hurt him, she knew it had to of, because her knuckles throbbed with the impact, and she thought perhaps she might have rebroken the one from earlier.

No matter, Another energy orb from her general, and she'd be alright again. The bruises lingered, she would be incredibly sore come morning, but the immediate pain and any serious damage would be dealt with here.

Or perhaps not.

Annabergite was on his feet again, furious, and Ceraskia had only enough time to stiffen as she realized what he was about to do, before he was doing it. The blow knocked the wind from her, sent pain in fresh, awful waves through her already bruised abdomen, but those were second to the impact of her petite body against the hard ground with his on top of her. There wasn't enough breath in her left for any sort of noise beyond a very strangled little gasp. Then the back of her head was bouncing off the ground, hard, and darkness rushed in at the edges of her vision to swallow world around her.

I'm sorry, mistress.