For a second this doesn’t feel like a fight. It feels like something else entirely. Like two people thrown into the same nightmare, both trying to wake up at the same time.
This isn’t right.
When I was thinking of my opponent, I don’t know what I was picturing, but it certainly wasn’t this. This…frightened male that wants to survive as much as I do.
What satisfaction is there in fighting someone like this?
My thoughts rage inside—uncertainty clouding my judgement.
Moe’s voice cuts right through the crux of those doubts. “Nyk!”
I glance at her, and I see the shake of her head.
She knows what I’m thinking; that I’m already having second thoughts. She’s warning me about the danger of those doubts—warning me aboutmyself.
It only takes that one second of hesitation. The male moves.
His movements are chaotic, borne out of pure panic and desperation. His survival instinct drives him forward. His weapon comes up too fast, his footing uneven as he closes the distance between us in a rush that’s more stumble than attack.
But it’s enough to catch me by surprise.
The strike is askew and off-balance, but it still connects with flesh. Pain flares along my side as his blade cuts alongside my right arm, sharp enough to steal the breath from my lungs.
I stagger back, my foot slipping on the fractured marble beneath me.
The ground drops slightly where I step. For a split second, there’s nothing under my heel.
My balance goes with it.
I fall hard, one knee slamming into the stone as the crack beneath me shifts just enough to throw me off completely. The impact rattles through me, and before I can recover, he’s already on me again.
“Get up!” Moe’s voice breaks through the noise, distant but clear. “Nyk, get up!”
39
My hand scrapes against the marble as I push myself upright, but he’s too close now, his movements faster than before.
Another strike comes at me. It’s clumsy but relentless.
I barely manage to bring my arm up in time to fend off a direct blow to my head.
The impact jars through me, sending a shock of pain up to my shoulder.
My footing shifts again as I force myself back, the uneven ground working against me at every step. My mind is still catching up—still trying to process what’s happening—while my body lags behind it.
Hesitation. It’s still there.
Still slowing me down. Still getting me killed.
He lunges again, and this time there’s no pause in him, no uncertainty. Just blind, desperate force.
Something in me snaps. The realization that this is kill or be killed finally sinks in. No matter how bad I feel for my opponent, or how much I pity him, it’s all the same.
The outcome is clear-cut: victor or victim.
And I cannot allow myself to be the victim. Not when I bear the responsibility of another life on my shoulders.
For Moe, I cannot lose. Imustnot lose.
