The emergence of wings from its back press her away, but only for a moment. The angel immediately turns to face her and leaves itself incredibly, unbelievably exposed. Illyria does not hesitate. She sinks a fist into its midriff, then whips back to strike the back of its head in fluid motion meant to floor it.
somewhat belated tw: for violence and mild ruination of phones
"Do not touch," she hisses, "what is not yours."