The following events were incomprehensible—not just to the onlookers, but even to the person fighting him.
It turned out Lugh had been holding back. Badly.
Her first attack was met with a deft parry, which fluidly transitioned into a rising slash.
Blood spurted like a fountain. The beastkin winced, staggering—but Lugh was already there.
She swung again, but her retaliation was weak and unfocused. He blocked with his left arm and drove his right leg into the side of her knee. She stumbled.
Still unwilling to surrender, she slashed out with her free hand. Lugh's blade flashed. The tendons in her wrist severed cleanly.
She barely had time to react before the pommel of his sword crushed into her temple. Her back hit the garden floor with a thud.
He reversed his grip and raised the blade high over his head.
"Wait, please—stop!"
The blade came down, impaling both shoulders, pinning her to the earth like a specimen on display.
