As the sword sliced through the top of her quadricep, Enyo cried out. Not in pain, she was accustomed to the pain that came with battle wounds. They were rare unless she was fighting someone worthy like Nergal of Sumer or as this god was proving himself to be. No, her shout was in surprise. Her leg started to collapse, but she willed it to stay as it was.
This was not over, she decided. Even wounded now past the point of being able to continue, it wasn't over. A quick glance downward, her guard not lowered, Violence saw the gush of blood. Her blood. The quick glance told her that unlike most battle wounds, this was going to be beyond her skill to heal. She was going to have to retire to Epidaurus and have the muscle repaired by Asklepios' fine staff of attendants.
“Look around you,” she said with a snarl. “My Romans have claimed victory on this day.” There was no lie there. The dead Cimbri littered the landscape. “Your attempt to restore honor to your annihilated peoples was folly.”
Chin raised, she was proud and perhaps even arrogant. Around them, the weapons and armor of hers that had been dropped or cast away during battle disappeared and returned to her armory where they would later be cleaned and repaired. Even her shield in hand, vanished. Her breastplate and vambraces disappeared. All that remained was a torn sheet of fabric pinned and tied in place, stained with blood. Yes, she would have to retire to Epidaurus.
“But with us, Barbarian... You may have won this battle, but this war is far from over.”
Before she left for the healing center of Epidaurus, Enyo added one final threat. “This is not over.”