Berserker

She hears the sharp sound of small rocks grinding beneath her boots. Vibrant, pulsating green drips down her arms and morphs into sharp blades that can rip through armor with ease.

Her body is her own, each breath extends not only to her lungs but also to every muscle. In the past, she used it while meditating. Now, it's for preparation. The anticipation between the ticks of the second hand from an old Earth clock.

The scent of sweat reaches her from fifty paces away; it comes in bursts of gruesome vibrance. Her enemy reeks of hubris, impatience, and not enough fear for her taste. Would she allow a snarl to escape her lips?

One final anticipatory breath.

She lunges.