**Whistle**
The mercenary's whistle sliced through the tense air, echoing off the damp stone with a mocking glee. It landed like a slap on Maria's already frayed nerves. His smirk stretched wider, revealing chipped teeth the color of old ivory. "Pretty skin, dollface," he drawled, his voice rasping like sandpaper on bone. "Shame someone already marked it... with mine."
Fury coiled in Maria's gut, twisting its way into her throat. She called upon her power, but it responded sluggishly, like wading through thick molasses. Something choked it, held it captive.
With a snarl, she unsheaths another dagger from her belt, her movements honed by centuries of battle, but stripped of their usual superhuman grace. This time, every parry, every dodge, would be earned with sweat and desperation.
"Still got a fight in you? Now that's the kind of woman I dig!" Genzai cackled, a sound that skittered along Maria's nerves like a swarm of insects.