Tull glanced at him. "What?"
"She should be tired enough to know she needs to slow down."
Celine charged again, and Ludwig watched the increasingly reckless way she moved.
"She doesn't care. Wrath is claiming too much."
Wrath did not allow exhaustion to become caution.
Fatigue became anger. Pain became anger. Failure became anger. The body begged for rest, and Wrath became furious at the body for asking.
Celine's movements grew more violent and less precise. She abandoned a dodge she could have made and accepted Sloth's fist against her shoulder just to bring herself close enough to bury her sword through his stomach.
Noctivex absorbed most of the impact, but her shoulder still dislocated. Celine ignored it and drove the sword through Sloth's back. When he looked down, she ripped the weapon sideways and opened half his torso.
