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She shifted like a graceful predator, with fluidity and grace that defied the traditional combat rules. Her strikes were swift and accurate, landing with a force that sometimes made Killen, despite his bulk, stumble backward.
Instead of relying solely on strategy and precision, Sana’a incorporated wild, untamed energy into her swordsmanship.
He struggled to keep up with her as they shifted from groundwork into the air.
‘Your shit is unorthodox,’ he panted.
Yet the way she surrendered herself to the chaos of battle was captivating.
Her face came alive as she embraced the exhilaration as they darted below over the glass ceiling of the íkhara. It was as if she had tapped into a wellspring of primal power, unleashing her inner beast with every swing of her blades.
Killen was so mesmerised he lost focus for a moment.
Sana’a slapped the flat of her shotel on his upper shoulder. ‘Eyes on me, Kíríga. Look me in the dead-set eye at all times. Don’t fix your gaze on my movements. On me, always.’
While he smirked at her words, the command alone was a game-changer.
The intensity of their gazes burned like fire, locked in a primal struggle for dominance. Each glance was like a flurry of sparks, a snapshot frozen in time amidst the chaos of clashing blades.
Her gaze was unwavering, with a hint of defiance. Killen was caught up in the fervour in her eyes in the contest of predator and prey, a dance of survival and domination, a silent acknowledgement of each other’s proficiency and will to win.
Still, her skill was unmatched. Her strikes were fierce and unpredictable, keeping Killen off balance and unable to anticipate her next move. However, after some repetition, he grew more comfortable blading the sword in different ways.
It didn’t mean he took to her hard-ass methods without grousing. ‘Woman, you’re half goddess, half hellion.’
‘Don’t care how you label me. I care how you fight.’
‘Why don’t you do labels?’
‘I am done explaining myself. My style is too wild and savage for basic bladers.’
Inspired by Sana’a’s fearless approach, Killen abandoned the rigid techniques he had long clung to.
Those which his mother, K’Elisa, a fierce blade wielder herself, had taught him.
He allowed himself to be swept away by the energy current that surged within him. With each swing and parry, he embraced the untamed spirit, mimicking her intricate footwork and quick slashes.
With a smirk, he welcomed the thrill of his fighting technique transforming.
His hawkstone, too, flashed, adjusting to accommodate new thinking. The old ways were distant and restrictive compared to this newfound freedom.
Sana’a’s eyes sparkled as she whirled toward him, her blades slicing atoms apart. ‘You’re getting into it.’
‘I am.’ He dodged her attack, vibrations reverberating through his arms. ‘Even though you’re a ball breaker.’
‘I just don’t put up with messing around, and I don’t suffer fools. So go harder, faster, wilder!’
His eyes smouldered and narrowed, a gleam leaping into them.
She smirked back, using his temporary distraction to smack him on the back of his end with her blade. ‘Focus, Kíríga. Otherwise, you lose your balance and, therefore, your battle advantage. It’s about honing your mind and connecting with the present. Never let go of the moment.’
With her guidance, he started to feel her wild spirit infect him and surge within him. The íkan infused krustallos walls around the training arena vibrated with anticipation as they unleashed every strike.
Their blades clashed with a thunderous force, filling the air with the metallic symphony of combat.
With each clash, their connection intensified. Awakened by the raw vitality they exuded in their closeness of fast movements, strikes and sudden, firm halts.
Often just millimetres away from each other.
