Avenger's body twitches on the ground where it had fallen. The arms and legs lift and fall slack in a slow and steady rhythm like the beating of a sleeping heart. The spine curls back at an unnatural angle, and on the tenth shudder this motion lifts the fallen Servant's body to her feet as though plucked there by puppet strings. 

She folds forward on her first step, blood spilling from a still smoking hole in her chest. Another step and she snaps straight except for her head, which lolls to one side on a neck that seems like it's broken. Her fingers curl around the hilt of her sword as it rises out of the ground next to her, and her head lifts until it's tilted back to show her the ceiling instead of the world at an odd angle.

Angelesia convulses in her chair, sweating with such a high fever that she can no longer control her body. All her violent shudders reach for the direction Actia is traveling. Avenger watches her and sighs, a chorus compressed into a single voice. And then she leans forward and spits out a bullet.

"I would be willing to overlook that [i]pointless[/i] display as the actions of a maiden too overwhelmed by love to comprehend her own foolishness."

Her boots fall heavy on the walkway, each step bouncing across the throne room in triplicate before its echo settles down beneath the waves of the chorus. Her sword thrums with power and sings a song of sparks as she drags it along the ground with careless laziness behind her. By the time she reaches Diaofei her armor has woven shut again.

"I would be willing to overlook the pain your alliance has inflicted on me as a sign of respect for my power. I would overlook the damage you have done to my former master's soul, though it is the reason I am standing here in this form. You are after all not a warrior. I would be very happy to kidnap you as a prize rather than butcher you as a foe, even if three full Command Seals had been burned demanding that I hack you to pieces."

Her cloak thrashes wildly in a hundred horrible shapes and beasts. Convulsing, twitching, fighting against the motions of Avenger's own body until she grabs the insubstantial nothing of its form with her hand and tears it off. In a grand whipping motion she fashions it into something solid and huge. A pair of pitch black wings that curl unnaturally upward with jagged rune-carved blades where bones or feathers might have been, and the barrel of some unwholesome gun pressed against her shoulder.

She stands in front of Actia and puts her hand on the four-tailed fox's head.

"...But."

Her fingers squeeze that obnoxious, vainglourious skull. Tight enough to crush her fluffy ears. Enough to hear skin and bone protest under the pressure. She hears the first gasp and she grins, lifting the foxgirl off the ground entirely. And for all of this she is holding back, neither crushing Actia into pulp nor inflicting the kind of damage that would cause her to pass out. If she's worth anything at all, it isn't even enough to prevent a counterattack, or to keep her from speaking. 

Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. The only point of any of it, the only point there ever would be, is pain.

"To come here? To come [i]here[/i] and speak of FREEDOM? To lament your status as a prisoner of fate and circumstance where I could hear you? You are truly every bit the villain I was told you are. There is no amount of suffering I can inflict that would ever be enough. But I will try."