Page 130 of She Who Was Severed

He’s taller. Wider. Shirtless. Scarred across the ribs like he’s fought with something that had claws for hands. A metal cuff gleams faintly on his wrist—a worn relic band. Still active. Probably bonded once. Maybe still is.

They said no magic.

They didn’t say anything about cheating.

“Name?” I ask, shaking out my arms.

He grins, teeth yellowed. “Don’t matter. You’ll forget it when you’re choking.”

I roll my neck, joints cracking.

“Let’s find out.”

There’s no bell. No horn. Just a sharp whistle and a low mutter from someone above—

“Begin.”

He charges like a wall with knees.

No finesse. Just mass and momentum.

I pivot sideways, let his shoulder graze past, and drive my elbow into his lower back. He grunts, whips around faster than I expect. I duck the hook, drop low, sweep his leg. He stumbles. Doesn’t fall.

His foot comes up toward my jaw.

I catch it—barely—and roll back, letting his weight carry him forward as I twist.

He lands heavy, dust exploding around his shoulders.

But he laughs.

“I like you,” he snarls, wiping blood from his lip. “Gonna keep your teeth.”

He lunges again. This time, more controlled.

He’s learning.

Shit.

I feint left, but his fist still clips my shoulder. I grunt, spin with it, use the momentum to bring my knee up into his ribs. Something pops. He winces. Grabs me by the throat.

He lifts me like I weigh nothing.

For a breath, the pit blurs around the edges.

Pressure. Heat. Vertigo.

The Chain stirs, but I force it down.

Then I do what I was taught not to.

I bite.

He howls, drops me. I land hard, twist out of reach. My vision swims. My throat burns. I cough and spit blood into the sand.

He circles now.

More wary.