Eva starts moving toward us, and I have to say, watching her walk is kind of mesmerizing. She's not running, not rushing, just striding forward with this measured, deliberate pace that somehow feels more intimidating than if she were sprinting. Each step is perfectly controlled, her heels clicking against the polished floor with metronomic precision.
Her face, at first glance, looks the same as always: ice-cold, neutral, the emotional range of a particularly stoic statue. But I've spent enough time around her now to notice the subtle differences. She's angry. Her face is tight in a way I've never seen before, the muscles along her jaw subtly clenched. Her eyebrows are slanted ever so slightly downward, maybe a whole two degrees off their normal position, casting the faintest shadow over those piercing ice-blue eyes. There's this tension in her posture that wasn't there before, like a coiled spring that's been wound just a bit too tight.
Seeing even that tiny shift in her expression is incredibly jarring. Every time I've encountered Eva, she's been the same emotionless, perfectly composed professional. Her face has been so still and constant that I'd genuinely started to wonder if maybe her expressions were just painted on. Like maybe she was actually a very sophisticated android and nobody had bothered to tell me.
I'm guessing that this barely-perceptible shift in her features is the equivalent of red-faced, screaming fury on a normal person.
I see a few curious students poking their heads into the classroom doorway, their faces appearing in the gap one by one. They're probably drawn by all the screaming and the general sounds of violence.
"What the—who the hell are you?" Rat face blurts out.
Then his eyes land on the students watching from the doorway, and his face pales. "Shit, people are watching." He bolts toward the door without another word.
Eva doesn't even break stride. She just lets him pass, continuing her purposeful march toward us like he's not even worth acknowledging.
The curious students, seeing rat face barreling toward them with wild eyes and aggressive body language, visibly pale. Their expressions shift from curiosity to alarm in an instant. They immediately start to scatter like cockroaches when you turn on the kitchen light. Rat face slams the door shut behind them with enough force to rattle the hinges.
Well, so much for witnesses.
Pig face steps forward, positioning himself directly in Eva's path. The size difference is significant. Eva's maybe five-foot-seven, and he's got to be at least six-foot-four, probably closer to six-five. He's wide too, his shoulders are easily twice the breadth of Eva's, his chest barrel-shaped beneath his shirt. Mostly muscle, I think, but there's a layer of fat over it that gives him this imposing, immovable-object vibe, like he's a brick wall that decided to grow arms and legs. He towers over Eva, who suddenly looks tiny by comparison, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder.
"Hey, hey, hey... hold up there, sweetheart." Pig face holds up a hand. "This is just some school business. Nothing for you to worry about. Why don't you head on out?" There's a condescending edge to his voice, the tone of someone used to intimidating people with his size alone.
Eva raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, and somehow that single raised eyebrow contains more disdain than most people manage with their entire bodies. She's just staring at him. Like how you might look at a particularly annoying mosquito before deciding how best to squash it.
"Move." It's not a request. It's a command, delivered in that same icy tone that could probably freeze hell over, each word clipped and precise. "We are leaving. You are obstructing my path."
The confidence in her voice is something else. She's maybe two-thirds his size, and she's talking to him like he's a piece of furniture that's been placed in the wrong spot.
I slowly push myself up from my fetal position on the floor, my palms pressing against the cold tile as I force my battered body into a sitting position. Every muscle screams in protest, my abs feel like they're on fire, my back is a landscape of radiating pain, and my ribs send sharp stabbing sensations through my chest with each breath. But I need to see this. I want to watch what happens next.
Now that Eva's here, now that I'm not in imminent danger of being kicked to death, I actually feel... safe? It's strange, but I genuinely believe things are going to be okay now that she's arrived. Maybe it's her quiet confidence and composure, the way she carries herself like she's in complete control of the situation. Or maybe I'm just delirious from pain, but I get the distinct feeling that Eva will be able to handle whatever happens next.
"Adam..."
Luna's voice cuts through my thoughts, soft and broken and thick with tears. Her footsteps are quick and light as she rushes over to me, and then she's practically throwing herself at me, her small body colliding with mine. Her arms wrap around my torso as she buries her face into my shoulder, her silky purple hair cascading over my arm. I can feel her whole body trembling, shaking with sobs that she's trying to suppress.
"I'm... I'm so... I c-can't..." she stutters, the words catching in her throat as she tries to force them out between ragged breaths. "This is... all my f-fault... I'm... I'm so sorry..." Her voice cracks on the last word, dissolving into another wave of crying, her tears hot and wet as they soak into my shirt.
Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Her arms are pressing against the fresh bruises on my sides and back, each point of contact sending fresh spikes of agony through my nervous system. My stomach is sore, my back is sore, and basically every square inch of me is bruised and hurting. I grimace, my face contorting as I bite back a groan, but I manage not to make any noise because Luna's already upset enough and I don't need to make it worse.
I wrap one arm around her, feeling how small she is against me, how fragile she seems when she's shaking like this. My other hand moves to stroke her hair, running my fingers through the silky strands. It's incredibly soft, finer than any fabric, and the warmth of her body pressed against mine makes me forget about the pain for the tiniest moment. I smell her subtle cotton candy scent, sweet and comforting, and I can feel her heartbeat racing against my chest.
"Hey, hey, hey... it's okay," I whisper, keeping my voice low and gentle. "Luna, look at me. I'm fine, see? And this isn't your fault, none of this is your fault, okay? We're going to be fine."
Movement catches my eye over Luna's shoulder. Jack is finally recovering from my previous nut shot, his movements slow and painful as he straightens up bit by bit. One hand is still clutching his crotch like it might try to escape if he lets go, the other braced against the wall for support. His face is a fascinating shade of red that borders on purple, mottled and blotchy, with sweat beading on his forehead. His eyes are watering, but there's something absolutely unhinged in them now: a wild, unfocused rage that makes him look genuinely dangerous in a way that has nothing to do with physical capability and everything to do with what someone might do when they've completely lost control.
"Nobody... fucking... leaves," he snarls, his voice rough and scratchy, like the words are being dragged over broken glass. Spittle flies from his mouth as he speaks, his lips curled back from his teeth. "You think this is over? I'm gonna make you watch while I fuck both these sluts bloody. Then I'm gonna cut your balls off and feed them to you, you little shit." Each threat is punctuated with labored breathing, his chest heaving.
Something shifts in my chest, hot and fierce. You know what? Fuck it. Acting cowardly and pathetic isn't going to do me any good anymore, and honestly, I'm tired of playing that game. I lift my head, looking directly at Jack across the classroom. I stare into his eyes, those bloodshot, rage-filled blue eyes, meeting his gaze with every ounce of defiance I can muster.
The truth is, I've never actually been afraid of this asshole. Frustrated by him? Sure. Annoyed? Absolutely. Aware that he could fold me into a pretzel if he wanted to? Unfortunately, yes. But afraid? No.
I only backed down from him in the past because he was an opponent I had no chance of winning against. The smart move was to accept the loss and move on with my life.
But this? This is different. He crossed a line. He tried to hurt someone I care about, and that turned this into a fight I wouldn't allow myself to run from.
His words invoke absolutely no fear in me. Just a deep, burning fury that sits in my chest like hot coals. Just try it, you bastard, I think, holding his gaze without blinking. I'll tear out your neck with my teeth if I have to. You won't touch them.Not while I'm still breathing.
Hearing Jack's delightful plans for our immediate future, pig face reaches out and grabs Eva's left arm, his meaty hand wrapping around her bicep. "Look, I don't want to hurt you, but you need to stay put."
Eva looks down at his hand on her arm, and the expression on her face is something special. It's not anger, exactly. It's more like... disgust. The way you might look at a cockroach that's had the audacity to crawl onto your dinner plate. "Release me."
"Or what?" Pig face smirks down at her, his lips curling into an ugly expression of superiority. His grip tightens further. "You gonna—"
"I have assessed the current situation," Eva continues, talking right over him as if he hasn't spoken at all. Her tone remains perfectly measured and professional, like she's reading from a manual. "You are unlawfully detaining three individuals. One of which has sustained visible injuries." Her eyes flick briefly to me, cataloguing the blood on my face, and the way that I'm hunched over, before returning to pig face. "Threatening language has been used. Under these circumstances, I am legally authorized to employ necessary force to ensure the safety of my charges." She pauses, and there's something terrifying in how calm she remains. "This is your final warning. Release me."
I catch movement in my peripheral vision, a shadow shifting behind Eva. Rat face is creeping up behind her, he's trying to be quiet, but his footsteps are still audible in the tense silence. His arms are coming up, hands reaching out, clearly trying to get into position to grab her from behind while his friend keeps her attention forward.
Pig face's smirk widens, showing teeth. His free hand starts moving toward her other arm. "Yeah, I don't think so, lady. Why don't you just—"
"Very well."
What happens next is so fast I almost miss it, and I'm watching for it.
Eva's right hand, which had been hanging loose and relaxed at her side, suddenly becomes a blur of motion. There's no wind-up, no telegraphing, no wasted movement. One millisecond her hand is by her hip, fingers loosely curled. The next millisecond her arm has snapped forward and up, her hand formed into a fist, and she's driving it directly into pig face's throat with surgical precision.
It's like watching a video where someone cut out all the frames between point A and point B.
The effect is immediate and devastating.
Pig face instantly starts gagging, the impact knocking him backward as all the air gets driven from his lungs. His fingers loosen on Eva's arm, both hands clutching at his throat on pure instinct as he tries to remember how breathing works.
What Eva does next is... dangerously beautiful.
With pig face preoccupied with his sudden inability to breathe, Eva's left hand is freed. She doesn't waste the opening. Her whole body moves like water, flowing from one position to another with liquid grace. She sidesteps to her right, her feet gliding across the floor in a movement so smooth it barely makes a sound. Her weight transfers fluidly to her right foot.
Then she plants her left foot solidly, her whole body coiling for just a fraction of a second. In that instant, I can see every muscle tensing, preparing, and then she explosively twists her torso, unleashing a blindingly quick hook at pig face's chin with her right hand.
The impact makes a loud sound: a sharp, meaty crack that echoes through the classroom. Her knuckles connect with the underside of his jaw, and I can see the shockwave ripple through his flesh, see his head snap violently to the side, see his eyes roll back as his brain sloshes around inside his skull.
All of this happens in maybe a second, perhaps less, and I find myself completely transfixed, unable to look away. Her body moves like poetry in motion, each movement flowing seamlessly into the next with perfect rhythm.
Pig face's eyes are already unfocused, glazed over, staring at nothing. His knees buckle, the joints just giving out, and his massive body starts to fall forward like a tree that's just been cut down at the base.
Eva catches him before he hits the ground. Her hand moves with surprising gentleness, reaching out to grab the fabric of his shirt at the shoulders, and I notice she uses just two fingers, pinching the material delicately between thumb and forefinger like even touching his clothing disgusts her.
Despite his size, she guides his descent with perfect control. She eases him down against the floor, his head lolling to the side, a thin line of drool already starting to run from the corner of his mouth.
Rat face, seeing his friend go down, launches himself forward from behind Eva with a running start, his arms outstretched, his hands reaching for her waist. He's trying for a tackle, to get her off her feet and use his weight advantage to pin her to the ground.
"Eva, behind you!" I shout, the words tearing from my throat.
To be fair, I don't think she needed my warning. The absolute nanosecond pig face's body touches the floor, Eva is already moving.
She pivots on her left foot, her body rotating smoothly, and steps to her right side while simultaneously rising up onto the balls of her feet. She bounces slightly, a boxer's stance, weight distributed evenly, knees bent, ready to move in any direction. Her hands come up into a guard position: left hand forward, right hand back by her face.
Rat face is committed to his charge, his momentum carrying him forward. He's lowered his head, leading with his shoulder, expecting to make contact with Eva's back. Instead, because she's no longer there, he charges through empty air.
Rat face turns to face Eva, and her left elbow snaps, extending her arm in a piston-like motion. Her fist shoots forward in a straight line, no wasted movement, all the power coming from the rotation of her hips and the extension of her arm. It's a textbook jab: quick, precise, and targeted.
Her knuckles connect with rat face's face right on the bridge of his nose. The hit lands with a sharp, wet crack, and I see his head jerk backward from the impact. His nose immediately starts bleeding, bright red blood gushing from both nostrils, running over his lips and chin. His eyes water instantly, tears streaming down his face on pure reflex.
He staggers, his feet stumbling as he tries to process what just happened. But he isn't completely out of it. "Shit! fuck! My nose!"
He has enough awareness left to backpedal, his feet shuffling backward as he makes distance between himself and Eva. His hands come up to cover his face, one hand pressing against his bleeding nose, the other raised protectively in front of his eyes. Blood is dripping between his fingers, spattering onto his shirt and the floor in dark red droplets.
Dang. She couldn't get a decisive hit in instantly, couldn't drop him with that one strike. I'm actually worried for her now. In a hand-to-hand fight like this, especially with such a huge weight discrepancy between them, even a single lucky hit could lay her out. Physics is a cruel mistress, and mass times acceleration doesn't care about your cool fighting techniques. One solid punch from someone his size and Eva could be the one on the floor.
Luckily, Eva seems to mirror my thinking. She reaches into her right pant pocket, and wow, I didn't even know that women's pants had functional pockets, let alone ones deep enough to hold what comes out next. Her fingers disappear into the fabric and emerge holding a compact black cylinder, maybe seven inches long and an inch in diameter: An expandable baton.
She brings it up in a smooth, practiced motion, raising her right hand up and to the left, the baton crossing over her body at chest height. Then her arm snaps down and to the right in one quick, sharp movement, like she's cracking a whip. The baton extends with a metallic snick, telescoping sections sliding out and locking into place with audible clicks. In a fraction of a second, it goes from seven inches to about two feet of solid steel, rigid and ready.
Oh. Oh, that's much better. Now we're talking. The playing field just got a lot more even.
"Come on, bitch!" Rat face shouts, his voice nasal and wet from the blood streaming down his face. He spits, and red droplets spray from his mouth. He charges again, lowering his center of gravity and leaning forward. His arms come up to protect his face, forearms crossed in front of his eyes, trying to create a guard that will let him power through to grab her. It's a bull rush, trading finesse for momentum.
Eva just watches him come, her ice-blue eyes tracking his movement with clinical detachment. She's utterly calm, her breathing even, her posture balanced. She stares at him coolly, like she's watching an ant trying to pick a fight with her, like this is mildly tedious but ultimately beneath her notice.
Rat face closes the distance fast, his feet pounding against the floor, his arms still up protecting his head. He's maybe five feet away. Four. Three.
Eva waits.
Two feet.
Then she moves.
She steps to the right just before rat face can get into range, a single smooth sidestep that takes her out of his direct line of approach.
Again, her body turns with that same lightning-fast rotation I saw before. The movement is scarily coordinated and smooth, every part of her body working in perfect synchronization. Her hips twist, her shoulders follow, her arm comes around. She does this swift, compact turn, bringing the baton up with her elbow bent, loading the strike. Then her arm extends in an explosive snap, her elbow locking, and she brings the baton down like she's hammering a nail.
The steel rod strikes rat face's left elbow cleanly, catching him right on the joint where the bone is closest to the surface, where all the nerves cluster..
CRACK.
Yowch. Yeah, that has to hurt. Like, a lot.
"FUCK! SHIT! AHHH!" Rat face's scream is high-pitched and agonized, his voice cracking. His left arm immediately goes limp, dropping to hang uselessly at his side, the forearm dangling at an unnatural angle. His face contorts in pain, his mouth open wide, his eyes squeezed shut.
Judging from that sound and the fact that rat face's arm is now swinging loosely like it's only connected by skin, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that I was right about the hurting thing.
It doesn't look like his elbow is broken, well, it's at least not completely shattered. But the joint is definitely fucked up, and I'm guessing the sheer pain and shock is pretty debilitating.
Rat face's charge turns into a stumble. His forward momentum carries him a few more steps, but his movements are uncoordinated now, lurching and unsteady. His right hand reaches across his body to grab his left elbow, trying to support the damaged arm. His face is scrunched up, tears mixing with the blood from his nose, creating pink streaks down his cheeks.
Then his legs give out. He falls to his right side, his body hitting the floor hard. He immediately curls into himself, cradling his left arm, rocking slightly. "My arm! You broke my fucking arm! You crazy bitch, you broke it!" His voice is high and panicked, wavering between anger and genuine fear. He's crying now, actual sobs, his chest heaving.
Wow. What a loser. One hit and he's out? He's not even unconscious! He's just lying there crying about his arm.
Me personally, I would have kept fighting.