Penelope sighed softly, lowering her hand. She had actually tried to hold back; she hadn't wanted to end the fight so quickly, but she couldn't afford to play games forever.
A moment later, the sound of shifting rubble echoed from the dark hole in the building.
Frost stepped out. She was battered beyond recognition. Her hair had reverted to its natural black, and her skin had returned to normal. Her jacket was shredded, severe burns covered her chest and arms, and blood streamed freely from a nasty gash on her temple.
She shuddered, limping forward, dragging her leg. Yet, against all odds, the moisture in the air gathered in her trembling hand, forming a jagged, desperate ice blade. With a primal, agonizing scream, she dashed at Penelope.
Penelope blinked in genuine, awestruck surprise. To still be conscious after that attack, let alone standing, was a testament to an indomitable will. "Interesting," she smiled, truly amused.
