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It was a foolish move. A short sword seemed light at first, until you were forced to extend it for any length of time. I read the strain of her efforts in the pinch of her brow, in the way she held her right shoulder.
With a rapid step-step, I was in Claire’s space. I slammed my sword into hers, sliding up the steel and catching her hilt with the tip of my blade. With a deft twirl, my blade wrenched her sword loose. It flew from her hands, over the ropes, clattering onto the gym floor.
I heard a whoop, and knew it must’ve been Emma cheering for me. Nobody else would have.
Claire’s face twitched. She was going to lose, and she didn’t like it. I glanced at the clock on the wall: 4:37. I wondered whether I could set a class record.
But in that moment, she plucked her dagger from its scabbard and leapt at me. Her erratic movements slid past my defenses, and she managed to connect with my hip, her blade slicing deep along my side, all the way down to my thigh.
I sucked in a breath—the pain was instant, extreme. A shock.
Claire had a real dagger. A razor-sharp one.
We stared at each other for a moment, our eyes wide. She’d been given a real blade with a real edge, and we both realized it at the same instant.
Emma screamed, “Stop the fight! She has a weapon. ”
It didn’t matter. Rule number six: Only time elapsed, points earned, instant win, or unconsciousness may stop a challenge once begun.
I hopped back to the ropes, regrouping. There were 4:17 left on the clock. My hip throbbed and my thigh stung with each movement. She’d managed to slice down my whole left side.
She studied me, grim satisfaction lighting her eyes. Though blood wasn’t visible on the black uniform, the fabric clung to me, my flesh soaked with it.
I saw the moment Claire decided to kill me. I watched as her face hardened, resolve steeling her features. She gave me a smile. And then she leapt, this time slashing and yowling like a wildcat.
My back was already against the ropes and so I scooted sideways, ducking from her.
There was a cold gust of air. It sent a shiver up my injured leg, so wet with blood. I heard the heavy gym door slam shut. Someone had entered. I spared a glance.
I’d never seen them before, but I could tell at once they were vampires. They stood rigid, unmoving. Watching me with eagle eyes.
I knew instinctively: The scent of blood had called them. My blood. I sensed their hunger.
Peeling the uniform from my thigh, I bobbed around Claire, back toward the center of the ring. The blood was flowing now, and I gave up trying to staunch it with my hand.
Time had slowed. An interminable 4:02 was left on the clock.
I needed to keep calm. My sword was blunt, but I was smart and I was strong. I am roots in the earth. I am grounded.
I went on the offensive, and my abrupt attack momentarily startled Claire. I managed to get in a hit, slamming the flat of my blade against the side of her head. It made a dull slapping sound.
Clutching her head, she shrieked. Her eyes shrank to tiny, glittering stones. She came at me with renewed fury. Frantically, she sliced at the air, sloppy movements aiming for whichever part of me she could find.
I raised my sword, blocking her. I felt the gym door open and shut again. The Tracers would be gathering, preparing to roll my body in canvas and take me away.
I pushed it from my mind. I was pure focus. My feet felt glued to the mat beneath me. I was only the sword in my hand and the dagger flying at me. I parried her every strike.
I gripped my sword hilt in my right hand, bracing the blunt top half of the blade in my left. Holding my sword diagonally before me, I edged toward Claire.
She shifted, gripping her dagger with both hands, like a baseball bat. And then she swung, hitting the very center of my blade. The metal snapped, my blunt practice sword unable to withstand an assault from high-grade steel.
Jogging backward, I tossed the broken tip from the ring. I spun to face Claire, jabbing at her with the ragged tip of my blade. I parried her strikes with what was left of my sword. But my stubby, blunt-edged weapon was no match for hers.
She slashed wildly at me, catching me on my forearm. Pain sheared up my arm. My hand opened reflexively, and my shard of a blade slipped from my sweaty palm.
The cut felt like acid searing down to my bones. Tears threatened to blur my vision, but I blinked back hard.
Blood dribbled down my arm. Wiping it from the back of my hand, I snatched the dagger from the scabbard at my calf. I tested the edge with my thumb. Blunt.
