Celeste walks to the center of the room, her eyes taking in the weapons on the walls, the mats, the equipment. She moves like she belongs here. Like she's spent her life in places like this.
"What were you before you were turned?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.
"Underground fighter. Three years."
"Why underground instead of professional?"
"Money was better. Fewer rules. And I liked the freedom of it." She picks up a practice staff from the rack, testing its weight. "Didn't have to deal with promoters or contracts or people telling me how to fight."
"Control."
"What?"
"You valued control. The ability to choose your fights, your terms."
She sets the staff down and meets my eyes. "Yes. And then it was taken from me."
I understand that better than she knows.
"Show me," I say, moving onto the mats. "Demonstrate what you can do."
She doesn't hesitate. Doesn't question. Just attacks.
She's fast, vampire speed combined with trained precision. The first strike comes at my head, and I block it easily. But the second and third come in rapid succession, each one targeting a different vulnerability.
She's not just fast. She's tactical.
I counter, testing her reflexes. She adapts immediately, shifting her stance, reading my movements. We trade blows for thirty seconds, neither of us landing anything significant, both of us assessing the other.
Then I increase the pressure.
I move faster, hitting harder, using my full strength. Most fledglings would fold under this kind of assault. But Celeste holds her ground. She can't match my power; I have six centuries of vampire strength, but she compensates with technique. Redirecting force instead of meeting it head-on. Using my momentum against me.
A move straight from jiu-jitsu.
She sweeps my leg, and I let myself go down, curious to see what she'll do. She follows me to the ground, going for a submission hold, but I reverse it before she can lock it in.
We separate and come to our feet simultaneously.
She's breathing hard, unnecessary, but old habits, and there's a gleam in her eyes. Not fear. Excitement.
She likes this.
"Good," I say. "Your technique is solid. Your instincts are excellent. But you're still thinking like a human fighter."
"What does that mean?"
"You're limiting yourself. You have supernatural strength and speed now. Stop fighting like you're fragile."
I see the understanding dawn on her face.
"Again," I say.
This time, when she attacks, there's less restraint. She uses vampire speed properly, blurring across the mat. Her strikes have more power behind them, less concern about hurting herself.
Better.
We fight for another five minutes, and I find myself… enjoying it. When was the last time I sparred with someone who could keep up? Marcellus, perhaps, but his style is different, pure power and aggression. Celeste fights like water, flowing around obstacles, adapting constantly.
