Cassarae's next strike tore across the plains with enough force to open a trench several kilometers long, but Tomoe slipped past the edge before the earth finished collapsing into it.
Without a sword in her hand, the sword maniac moved differently than before, her attacks compressed into smaller motions as every finger became an edge, every turn of her palm redirected the Sword Will already filling the air, and her hair occupied whatever space her hands could not.
It was all so natural and fluid, so beautiful and almost structured in an odd way, especially considering how chaotic and jumbled it might all seem from an outside observer.
