Blame It On The Black Star PV — A. OLSEN

𝕴f there is a light then I am going to swallow it. If there is a god then I am going to make him cry.

Again.

Blade clashed against the trunk of the idle mannequin, steel ripping its way into the tender flesh of wood. Sliding back from the strength of the impact, her entire body moved in a singular motion as she jumped, swirling in the air, a single dagger ramming into her target before she slammed it down, the sound of its plastic skull splintering under her sword causing a blissful shiver of contentment alongside her spine. She wheezed, kneeling on the broken figure laying at her feet, hand clenched in pain around the hilt of her sword.

Again.

From under, ducking the repeated assaults of the bewitched dummy, parry, thrust, block and dive. Striking as hard as she could, snapping the other's blade in half, kicking its leg before sending him across the room, smashing into the opposite wall. Feeling a sudden change in the air, she tilted her head to the left a few seconds before another sword struck her down, barely avoiding a serious injury. The blade instead collided with her right shoulder, sending her down to her knees with a pained grunt.

Again.

Faster, faster. She had not enchanted every mannequin in this damn room for noth— "Blasted-" she hissed, sent rolling on the floor. She felt her grip loosen around her weapon, and did not manage to stop her spiral until her back slammed against the wall. Huffing, annoyed, she cast a narrowing gaze towards the mannequin that had suffered the same fate, a few minutes prior. Or was it hours. The count had been lost a few moons ago. Anger swirling within her veins like melted iron, she took hold on the wall as a propeller, then dove for her assaillant, who was soon shredded to pieces.

The adrenaline still coursing through her system, it took her a few seconds to realize she was the last figure standing in the middle of the room, panting, sword pointed at the ground and beads of sweat pearling down her neck. O, The Soul, Enraged — Violence for Violence. A mad hound, in the midst of battle, perched atop of a cemetary. Without her accord, her knees began shaking, and gave way beneath her weight as she crumbled to the ground, wheezing. The harsh, familiar sting struck her down harder than any blow, and a loud grunt escaped her, hand clenched around her shoulder. When she pulled it away, it was the same crimson as the one swirling in her eyes. Exasperated, she fetched the bandages she kept in her sack, and quickly wrapped it around the wound. No time to properly place it, even if her governess would frown should she learn she was being 'so foolishly careless with her own health'. Peuh. Her body possessed capacities beyond those narrow-minded moron's understanding, and the only care it needed was to sharpen it into the finest of weapons. Light, slender and rapid ; strong, sturdy and enduring ; violent, raw and deadly.

Again.

She put one knee to the ground, found her sword, then ro— "Gah-" A sharp, devastating wave of pain shook her entire frame, the steel clicking to the ground as she fell back down, clutching her shoulder. Damn it. Contemplating pushing it, she reluctantly abandoned the idea upon seeing how low the sun was dipping. The swordswoman had not the slightest clue of when she had begun, but judging by the cuts and bruises adorning her body, or how destroyed her knuckles wear, it must have been quite a lot of time. Still breathing hard, she kicked her sword back into her hand, sliding it back into its sheath, before pivoting to glance at the remnants of her training. Piles and piles of destroyed training dummies, scattered at every corner of the room, and a few broken swords. "Reparo."

A few minutes later, Viktoriya was dressed in suitable wear once more, though her trusted blade was still strapped to her waist. The Heiress had planned to head straight to her room and catch up on the reading Mstislav had sent her, but a sudden dizziness stopped her in her tracks, forcing her to lean on the wall until she found her breath once more. The pain stung her, constant, but it was easy to brush it off. Internalize, ignore, bottle up. Focus on what was important. Right now, being functional once more. Noticing the lavatory was a few steps ahead, she barged in, heading for a sink. Leaning on the nearest, she paused, panting, before splashing some water on her burning face. Breathe in, then out. Caught up in her attempt at cooling down, she didn't notice another person entering.