Hissing, Len brushed off the blow. It'd bruise soon enough but right now the pain was something she could ignore. The slight sag and delay to every move she made with it wasn't ideal, though. There was no way of telling just how much damage it had done, but at least it wasn't bleeding. The Head smirked in victory and prepared to strike again. In an instant, the pain in her shoulder disappeared as she seethed with white-hot fury. He hadn't earned that smirk.

Now that he was close enough to her to loom, he was close enough for her to strike. With his arms outstretched overhead, he didn't realize that she had already recovered. Dropping the sword, she kicked at his instep, forcing the leg outward. She then wrapped her leg behind his, pulling his knee forward to completely destroy his balance. He stared, mouth agape at her as her next move had her stepping forward and shoving the palm of her hand into his chin. A moment later, the full force that she could manage was thrust into his off-balance form. He slammed backwards, head bouncing against the sand. She smiled as she felt him rebound back at her so she could throw him into it again. Again and again she repeated this tactic, gaining fury with each blow. Before she realized what was happening, the man's face had begun to get bloody. For a second, she considered letting up, giving him at least a moment to recover his composure before she continued her assault. She crushed that tendency towards mercy with a contemptuous shrug. The things this man had done? The things he'd permitted just to let his rule continue? A slow torture session that ended in his death would be far too generous.

Once her arms began to grow tired with slamming the stunned man's head against the ground, she stood up, grabbed his ankle, and twisted it a full 180 degrees, snapping it ruthlessly. The Head screamed in outrage and agony as she continued to twist a little farther just to make absolutely certain that enough damage had been done. Once she was confident, she dropped the leg unceremoniously to the ground, THEN backed off.

"Well, up with you, worm," she snarled. He looked at her in dumbfounded confusion, then did as she'd instructed. He winced as he accidentally put weight on the limb, but recovered and just glared at her.

"You think this is done, woman? You can't imagine the pain I have in store for you."

"I really can. It’s not terribly worrisome coming from a man who’s about to die. You, on the other hand, have no way of understanding just how easy it is to hurt you.”

He looked at her again, the rage fading from his eyes for a moment. She gave him nothing back. She'd been angry, disgusted, generally enraged by the man, but now? Now she was done with him. She'd been responsible for deaths before now, had accepted that she'd be responsible for more before her stay in this world was over. Somehow, she still hadn't come to the realization that she'd be the direct cause of one of those deaths. I mean, sure, she'd been splitting hairs. There's no reason for a person to pretend that the life they had taken on their behalf was any better or worse than a life taken by their own hands, but it still was a strange thing to contemplate.

The world around her seemed to slow. Not the jarring stoppage of time that happened when Pitch did its thing. No, this was the slowing as adrenaline surged through her veins, promising upcoming brutality. Her life was on the line here and the crucial moment was approaching. If she hesitated now, if she showed mercy now, her chances, the chances of the people at the Hovel, and the chances of the Kelvach Clan would be gone. There would be only death, misery, and worse to come. She couldn't allow that.

She could see every jutting vein on his forehead pulsating with fury. She could feel the strain in her shoulder as more of the damage made itself known. She could feel every ounce of strength that she had left in her. The Head was stationary, barely maintaining his balance while avoiding stepping on his maimed leg. She supposed it had been careless to give him this chance. Even that carelessness could be enough to cost her everything if she was careless. Another part of her insisted that she needed it to play out this way. Just killing him by beating him on the ground wasn't enough. Instinctively, she knew that she had to take him out on his feet, so there could be no room for doubt that she had crushed him.

After another moment of pause, they both moved on some unspoken signal. Each roared in challenge and Len charged him. His arms were wide and terrifying. Even with the damage she'd done to his right arm, he seemed unfazed and ready to break her. As she closed in on him, his arms closed in on her. She could practically feel the hairs on his arms touching hers when she made her move, springing above him with superhuman agility. She landed with her hands on the sides of his head, gripping it tightly for just long enough for him to realize what had happened. Again, a gesture she normally wouldn't have bothered with, but she really wanted to drive the point home. The moment she felt his eyes widen in shock, she continued falling forward at his back, twisting violently as she fell. For the rest of her days, she'd remember the almost underwhelming pop as his vertebrae gave way to a force they were never meant to endure. His body had already gone limp before she hit the ground.

There was a shocked silence in the arena, that the fight was over so quickly left everyone stunned. Len herself was more than a little surprised at the result. Sure, she'd been confident, but it felt almost unreal now that it was done. She slowly got back to her feet and looked down at the corpse of the man she'd just killed. She'd expected to feel different, like something monumental had shifted inside her. That was what all the pop culture she'd ever watch insisted on harping on: what a massive personal shift occurred within you if you dared to take a life. Instead? It was just a thing that she'd done. She felt no more put out by it than if she'd had to swat a fly. That was probably not a great sign of things. Or she was in shock. Either way, she didn't have time for it now. She considered her next move carefully, knowing that it would have long-lasting repercussions. She drew herself up with all the poise she could muster, looked down at the Head one more time, then spoke.

"Your leader challenged me directly to combat. He then left me imprisoned for days with no explanation of what was happening. Then, when he finally does let me out to see what's going on, he has me fight and kill one of the few friends I truly have amongst your people. I have half a mind to consign you to whatever fate Cassius there has planned for you," here she glared up at Claymar's agent. "The Head made a choice to betray you all, to leave you to whatever awaited you without remorse so long as he was safe and secure. It was only due to a personal slight that he even deigned to risk anything. Your rules would have allowed him to destroy you without a care in the world. I won't leave you to that same fate. For now, though, you can be damn certain that I claim the title of Head as my own."

She paused, almost as an afterthought.

"That reminds me. HE demanded that I kill my friend to satisfy your bloodlust. He intended for me to die, but as soon as his family was out of harms way, he surrendered to me for YOUR sake. I think that loyalty should be rewarded, don't you?"

There was a murmur of confusion from the crowd. Len simply nodded at Cammie. The shadow child danced merrily over to the prone form of Balar, then knelt down to kiss him on the place where Len had punched him. As with Taylor before him, veins of shadow uncoiled themselves from his body, slowly creeping their way up to the place Cammie's lips had touched. With a flash of shadow, they vanished into the ether. Nodding in approval, Cammie disappeared again. Groggily, Balar shook his head in confusion, trying to catch his bearings.

"Wha- what happened?" he asked.

Len smiled at him, climbed the stairs to the spot where the Head's... her throne awaited her, then sat down.

"We won."

* * * * *

[So, that's the long and short of it, Boss,] She said in her message to Astrid. [Bad guy beaten, forces of evil repelled, the hero saved the day!"]

[But...] Astrid replied. [You're the forces of evil too, Len.]

[Bah, a technicality. You and I both know that I'm only 90% as evil as this Claymar guy. Them being stuck under my petty dictatorship is infinitely better for all parties concerned than them being stuck under HIS petty dictatorship.]

Len smiled. It was still very early days, but she'd managed to secure a decent amount of peace and prosperity so far. She'd sent Cassius back to Claymar with a very sweet "Your services will no longer be required here" and the cheerful promise to behead him if he showed up again. He'd scowled in proper defeated villain fashion, then slinked away to plot some new nefarious scheme somewhere far far away from Lenore Wraithwhisper and her band of lunatic friends. She'd rather enjoyed that.

[So, what's next with you, Oh Mighty Demon Lord? How goes the war and all that? My little cluster of space and time doesn't actually provide me with many details of what's going on in the great wide world out there. Tell me, do they still speak of me?]

[You mean of your minor showing before any of the interesting fights started at the Grand Proving? Oh yeah, Len, they talk about you all the time. Truly, whatever would we do without your divine presence to give us strength?]

Len chuckled. She'd been very put off by Astrid's writing style initially and taken some of her hard edge a little too harshly. These days, though, it was downright fun to trade barbs with the almighty Demon Lord. There was a hardness to her, but it wasn't nearly as cruel as she liked to pretend. She'd been rather put out that Len had been out of contact for several days, in fact she'd started to get a bit threatening on the subject. Len just brushed it off as her having been swamped with work to do, opting not to let the Demon Lord know that she'd been imprisoned for several days.

[You know, Len, said Astrid,] her pen scrawling a bit slower than usual. [I think you might be the only real friend I have.]

Len almost wrote back with a snarky rejoinder, keeping up the routine they had and earning some more mild amusement. As had happened before, though, she stopped. For all that the Demon Lord was quick with the commentary and wit, she was less quick to share details about herself, little insights into who she really was as a person. Len did get the impression taht underneath all the bluster, she was a much less confident person than she presented, and probably a bit sweeter, if Len was any judge. For her to be raising that point right now suggested that there was something more going on. Oddly, that made Len more nervous than amused.

[Really?] she asked, not quite sure how to proceed. She didn't want to throw the Demon Lord off guard in this moment and thought it best to leave some wiggle room in her question.