His mornings, afternoons, and evenings turned out more eventful than he thought. From the moment light started to shine and the moment it went out, he and Zillia were crossing blades. 'I was crossing blades with her… she was just swinging them.'
Like how a child swings a stick thinking it is a sword, but contrary to a child, Zillia has the strength to back her swings, and the ferocity to make herself a credible threat with crude and drawn-out movements.
Her claws are of superb quality, if they were anything less, a couple of shattered blades was everything Kyrie would have by the end of the day. Each black lock and collision sent shockwaves through the tool storage room.
Things were so bad that the house made a sturdier room with thicker walls solely for their spars.
