Macbeth dodged.
At this point, it was all he could do as his opponent came in fast, alternating between punches and kicks aimed at various parts of his body. Because it was her physical body, he couldn't use his reflector magic to block the attack–an annoying asterisk on an otherwise near-perfect defensive measure. He could dodge them, but only barely each time. It helped that he could flash invisible for a second, move slightly, and then reappear, which seemed to disorient her sense of where to land the hits.
He tried to study her as they danced in and out. Her movements were graceful, flowing into one another naturally like they were second nature to her. Even though she only used physical attacks, he could sense that she was a mage. That fact kept him tense, as it meant that there would possibly be a secondary attack, one he had no means of predicting. Macbeth didn't want the fight to drag on. He considered turning completely invisible and running for the stairs, hoping to make it to the others before she noticed. But given her speed, he might not even make it there before he was caught.
She also hadn't uttered a single word since they began, focusing her all on the attack. Perhaps he was lucky and fighting took so much brain power for her that it didn't leave any room to talk.
Although, given his track record, talking while fighting was an equal sign of a failing brain…
He skidded to a halt, having been backed into a corner to the left of the entryway. The woman took deep breaths, as did he. They were both starting to become a little winded.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked, trying to stall a little to catch his breath. He wasn't sure that she'd answer, but after a fresh glare at him, she found her voice.
"You'll kill him otherwise, won't you? I can see that look in your eyes. It has the guts to kill, that's done it before and will do it again."
Macbeth regarded his adversary warily. Her grey eyes were cold, and he could suddenly see all too clearly what Cobra had described; a predator, hunting down prey. One who recognized in another the same thing.
"Hmph. We didn't plan on it, but I can't say it's not a possibility."
"Then get out."
"Oh no, ladies first."
With a wave of his arms, he shouted "Spiral Pain!" and two vortexes of air erupted underneath the woman. She cried out, and Macbeth continued the onslaught. He gritted his teeth as the attack continued. Spiral Pain was meant to be done in an open area, lest it tear a house or floor in two. He didn't want the building to collapse with his friends inside, so he focused the area of attack to be much smaller. It still damaged the walls a fair deal, but nothing to which they would shatter from it. The flip side was that his concentration was now doubled, which produced an enormous mental strain.
The attack stopped and he dropped to one knee, between the dodging and his last attack, he felt woozy. He looked up to see the condition of his opponent.
And saw that she was standing, scratched up but defiant.
Then, as the icing on the terrible cake, she started to transform.