THE VALKYRIE'S LAST FLIGHT

Ursula tensed, her broad powerful shoulders visibly tightening at that word, but a ripple ran through her long spine as she relaxed her tense muscles, and calmly she turned to face Felonious once more.
“What did you call her?” She asked, her voice icilly calm.
“Is there too much blood in your ears? I said your ship is a Bitch, and she doesn’t have anywhere to go because you slaughtered the man who knew where we need to go next!” he screamed, waving down at the corpse he stood over.
Crack! The squat man went flying as her lightning fast blow hammered into his jaw, but like a cat he twisted in midair, contorting his body to land sliding back on his feet. He stood up straight, his short, wide body tensing and flexing as he raged internally. He reached a hand over his shoulder to grasp one of the handles of his enormous weapons, his feet slightly turning in the dirt as he planted his weight and swung forward an unearthly mace.
It looked impossible, a heavy iron ball perched atop a long handle, with a grip reminiscent of a motorcycle throttle. The ridiculous thing was clearly designed to be wielded with both hands, but Felonious was casually slinging it about with just his right, while his left hand reached behind his hip to pull out a blunt resonator. He revved the mace, which began shedding arcs of angry yellow lightning, and primed the resonator, which began to emit a low throbbing hum.
The other men of his party looked on, most with consternation at this unfortunate development in their rescue, Binitous with a kind of appalled fatalism that his partner would act in such a way.
Felonious attacked.
He charged with the relentless power of an implacable flood, bearing down on her with the weight of a sudden and violent ocean.
She dodged and weaved away from the powerful blows, steadfastly refusing to bring her own weapons to bear. But the rod was more than just an ordinary mace, and though she managed to avoid every crushing blow aimed at her head her features were still a lightning rod for the weapon’s waves of lethal energy.
The tall warrior had to shield her eyes from some of the cruel yellow arcs, throwing up her steel-shod forearms to protect her sight, and Felonious took the opportunity to bring up his resonator. Aiming the blunt nub above it’s grip at her midriff, he triggered the odd thing that looked like nothing so much as a particularly overzealous personal massager.
Ursula went flying, tumbling across the bodies already littering the battlefield. But somehow she righted her body and flipped up onto her feet.
She squared her feet, her features set as she finally relented. Ursula Morrow drew her sword.
She charged, her sword gripped in both hands ready to end this ridiculous fight. She swung the long blade out.
And was met by Felonious’ resonator.
The resulting explosion shattered Ursula’s sword, sending razor sharp splinters of metal flying and knocking her back a step. She screamed to the skies, clutching her face as blood swept through her fingers. She lowered her hands as Felonious settled back on his heels, his weapons listing casually from his fingers. He had won this fight.
He knew, because Ursula was now glaring at him with only one eye. The other was sitting comfortably impaled on a long shard of sword-fragment, like a particularly morbid drink garnish.
The tall warrior stood stooped, defeated, gasping for breath in front of the squat brawler who’d attacked her.
He sneered.
So like lightning, she whipped her pistol from her hip and blew a six-gauge hole out the back of his skull.
Right in front of his entire crew. Who just so happened to be circled around her already, fully armed and ready for trouble...