Somebody set off her grenade mid-air. Dammit. I must be getting dull. No helping it. She'd have to find whoever interfered. Holstering the grenade launcher back beside her thigh, Blackhawk reached over her shoulder for her rifle, and--
"Dishonorable dog! Face a real opponent!"
And promptly had to dive out of the way to avoid some punk kicking her in the face. Great. Now there was interference right in front of her and at a location she wasn't aware of. The rifle wouldn't be useful up close. Instead, Blackhawk would need the machete. Gripping it in her left hand, the woman spoke clearly to her assailant as she pulled it out from behind her back. "If you hadn't screamed like that, you'd have gotten me. That in itself is worth something, kid." Readying herself and entering a fighting stance, Blackhawk observed her foe and continued "But I have no business with some brat prattling on about honor. Out of my way."
Phalanx barely had time to register that her opponent was headed straight for her before the sword came down hard; if she'd so much as blinked, she wouldn't have time to raise her shield. She's fast! How in the hell does somebody move that fast!? That in itself was nearly enough to confirm Phalanx's suspicions...no, her fears. The sword itself merely sealed the deal. Anyone bearing the name Phalanx would have been able to recognize Excalibur; it was - by Layla's time - a relic that every Phalanx had wanted to recover from wherever it had gone. And here it was, with the only thing standing between it and her being a shield that probably wouldn't last much longer at this rate.
"I get it now; you're truly the King. In that case, this fight's as good as over...but, I'm not going to surrender so easily!" She could have definitely called in her fellow White Knights, but even all of them plus Phalanx probably wouldn't stand a chance. But this fight had now started; all Phalanx could do was endure it long enough to properly lose. Putting the entirety of her strength behind pushing Excalibur off her, Phalanx had already pre-calculated her next move. Assuming, of course, King Arthur didn't outclass Phalanx's strength just as much as her speed.
Not good. He...no, she's the only one person I must defeat, and yet...
Burnout seemed to be down for a moment. But then he got back up. Was this man seriously that hell-bent on getting himself killed? If this kept going much longer, Necrohead would end up wanting to call up headquarters to ask for an exception to her dietary rules for this guy; especially after he went and called her a zombie freak. Alas, rules were rules. At the very least, she knew where to aim for future reference; Burnout's hands were glowing.
But it was to end here. Stepping right up to Burnout with absolutely no evident concern for his earlier words about recovering after being blown to bits, Necrohead did what zombies do best. Use their heads. The meaning of which being, Necrohead reared her head back, and promptly swung it forward. Not hard enough to crack the guy's skill or anything; just to finish what the robot had started. She wanted this fight to be over so she could grab a bite to eat.
Crab meat today, perhaps. Or pork.