A Slayer is like anything else: a collection of targets.
River slips sideways, away from that dangerous spinning chain before it's tangled and taken out of the fight. Instead, she lashes her sword downward -- blood droplets fly -- and back up to slide it into the sheath, one-handed, in the same moment her free hand blurs towards her hip.
A Slayer's like any other human in this, too: bullets kill them sure as anyone.
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A Slayer is like anything else: a collection of targets.
River slips sideways, away from that dangerous spinning chain before it's tangled and taken out of the fight. Instead, she lashes her sword downward -- blood droplets fly -- and back up to slide it into the sheath, one-handed, in the same moment her free hand blurs towards her hip.
A Slayer's like any other human in this, too: bullets kill them sure as anyone.