“My next battle will not be my choice.”
“Let me remind you why it should!”
With a roar, War came at her. Shu-fang dodged to the side – perhaps one of the few people, mortal or otherwise, who could do such a thing. War still struck out to the side as she came and Shu-fang ducked down, kicking up dirt at War’s face.
There was no winning this confrontation. One never won against War. One did not win a contest of strength, one did not win a battle in cunning. She had disengage.
War would never run away, so Shu-fang would have to.
With both hands, War grabbed her. Shu-fang let her, partially because she knew she couldn’t avoid it and partially because it gave her a chance to think about what she needed to do next. War flung her down, landing on top of her. Through the pain (which she had long since become desensitized to), Shu-fang simply rolled the both of them further down a slope. If she stopped or agreed, War would drag her away as prisoner. Shu-fang supposed she could handle the years of torture that might come from that. Not torture by War, just by being around the Gods.
Yet she didn’t want to give in yet. Not yet. She had just started. There was so much time to solve this.