Helena's legs are locked, vicelike, around the man's torso, and arm hook around his neck as her other hand pulls away the helm protecting his skull, his face, aided when Hanzo's arrow lands. Her mouth tugs into a vicious grin and it's all a violent, writhing wrestle. One of his hands finds her arm, and a shock of electricity makes her body go rigid, tighten, but she doesn't let go.

I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

She is the angel, and Hanzo is the great dragon.

"You will not find him," she hisses into the mage's ear, one arm still locked to throttle him, her other hand splayed like a claw as she drives her thumb and fingers into the Venatori's eyes.