The break in momentum is enough to prevent Benedict from striking back, at least immediately, his eyes closing in a deeply frustrated, full-body sigh.

"This is stupid," he mutters, clambering to his feet and dusting off his knees, doing his best to wave away the woman behind him, which, of course, completely fails.

"Won't fight you, won't fight me, won't fight for anything," the specter declares, folding her arms in a look of imperious triumph, "what's the point of you, Beni?"

Benedict seems to take the question into consideration, staring tight-jawed into the middle distance, his own fists balled. Fuck.