Every time she was hit, Bentley would fall. Every time she fell, she would get back up. It didn't matter how painful it was, or how much blood she coughed up in the process, she would stand up every single time Camael knocked her down.
Luckily, since she was just a soul, she couldn't actually bruise or draw any blood on the skin. If she was blasted by a spell, her form would flicker slightly and Bentley would have to strain her magic in order to keep up her appearance. The angels on the cliffside hadn't figured out that she had been separated from her physical body yet, and Bentley intended on keeping it that way. As long as he had the upperhand of knowledge, she would be alright.
Most likely.
"Is this the only way you know how to solve conflict? Beating something until it's dead?" Bentley asked as soon as she had a chance to breathe. "For an angel of your rank, Camael, you really are astonishingly nasty—"