Beatrice joined Samira, resting her chin on one hand as she watched the violent spectacle as if it were a particularly engaging play.
"You know..." she murmured, looking at Strax, "if this thing keeps acting like this, maybe I'll break it a little more myself."
Strax snorted, his arms still crossed.
"You'll have to get in line," he replied, glancing briefly at Tiamat, who was conjuring a magical prison made of spectral serpents, entwining Zanith's arms and legs.
The sword screamed, its feminine voice drawn out, distorted by pain and humiliation.
"I am a legendary relic! An arcane masterpiece! I have drunk the blood of gods, destroyed entire kingdoms, brought armies to their knees! You cannot treat me like this!"
Ouroboros paused for a moment, her fist covered in mystical blood, and leaned slightly to look into the sword's spinning golden eye.
"Yes, we can," she replied with a wicked smile. "And we will continue to do so. Until you learn to keep that little heart tail down."
