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His blade responded, pointing towards the Shotelai woman.
The kavalier raised his chin and jerked it forward, flinging the weapon onto Sana’a.
She blocked the strike and sent her shotel flying at the same time. She then scored Kartik’s back, drawing a thin line of blood as it scraped past before hurtling back into Sana’a’s hands.
There was a flurry of movement from both fighters.
With a roar, the kavalier lunged closer, and soon, they were in close combat.
It soon became apparent that Sana’a’s fighting style was a stark contrast to Kartik’s.
While he took on a controlled, measured approach using his íkantation to guide his strikes, hers was untamed.
Each swing and parry was a symphony of chaos, a dance of lethal beauty that left the Katánian disoriented.
Kartik was employing his bound fists to push Sana’a’s blade away from him as he tried to get inside his guard.
Sana’a used her right flank to block Kartik’s attacks while trying to keep her left side towards her opponent.
She found a gap and sent her shotel whistling lightning fast into the wheeling man’s wing.
The force behind the blow sent the kav rotating mid-air.
The crowd went wild as Kartik somersaulted and lunged, throwing his powerful legs around Sana’a’s waist. He interlocked the two of them in a deadly embrace and forced a high-speed dive plunge to the ground.
Sana’a snarled as they plummeted, attempting to find an opening with her weapons.
She slashed, and one of his wings was sliced to the bone.
Screeching in pain, Kartik’s thighs loosened, and he let go. Sana’a pushed off, finding air and balance once more.
Kartik was stumbling back mid-air, the top half of one wing spattered with blood.
The throng roared as Sana’a lunged forward and tapped his chest with her shotel, making a criss-cross slash with one gash curve, like her weapon.
A moment later, Kartik dropped to the ground, clutching his thorax.
K?stian soared in, hands raised, and the fighting stopped.
The tables had turned, and now the crowd was chanting for Sana’a.
She was panting hard, her hair damp with sweat, and her shirt was clinging to her breasts.
Lifting the fabric off her skin to cool herself off, she landed and tracked over to Kartik, offering him her hand.
He snarled at her, hoisting his bound talons as if to swat hers away. ‘Fokk off Shotelai.’
‘Be a good sport now,’ she murmured. ‘Sore losers suck. All eyes are on you, and you’ll only gain more respect by taking your loss like a champ.’
Sana’a tried again and leaned down, clasping Kartik’s cuffed fists and hauling him to his feet.
The crowd was roaring in approval, even as her fellow combatants gave her a round of applause.
The masses clamoured and hooted again, and the two fighters bowed to each other.
Sana’a took a victory lap around the arena, waving at her growing legion of fans, her arms raised in triumph.
She turned to head back to the tunnel and change rooms, pausing when she spotted a silhouette in the crowd.
