They attacked as one.
The dagger flashed in from the left while Derek's baton crashed down from above. I whipped Trent upward just in time to catch the descending blow. At the same moment Lloyd went sideways, intercepting the dagger before it could bury itself in my throat. My arms had already started going numb from the punishment.
Another strike came immediately. Then another right behind it. They moved like they had rehearsed this multiple times before.
Metal blurred around me. Every direction carried a threat. Head, throat, knees, ribs. I shifted, pivoted, raised my weapons wherever instinct demanded, barely managing to keep the worst of it off me.
A baton smashed into Lloyd and forced my arm wide. The dagger slid through the opening and carved a shallow line across my hip. I shoved the smaller man away with the haft and turned just in time to catch Derek's next attack.
Before I could recover, the dagger stabbed at my face. I jerked my head aside just as the blade shot past my jaw.
Another baton swing slammed into my calf. Pain exploded up my leg. I staggered half a step, managing to deflect the next dagger thrust before it reached my stomach.
Every time I managed to block one hit, the other slipped into the gap that block created. A bruise bloomed under my vest when a baton clipped me. The dagger opened another cut along my forearm. My shoulder jerked violently when Derek's baton struck Lloyd's haft.
It was relentless.
The smaller one laughed under his breath.
"Still standing?" he said, sounding genuinely impressed. "I didn't think you'd last this long."
Neither did I.
A jab at my eye. I twisted away. Somewhere in the chaos a thought pushed its way through.
The hits I was blocking… They weren't random. Every blow I managed to stop was the one that would have ended the fight. A thrust to the throat. A baton aimed for my temple. A stab meant for the gaps around my vest. The ones that came through weren't fatal.
Painful. Dangerous. But not immediately crippling.
The realization sent a strange ripple through my mind. I wasn't choosing to stop them. Not intentionally. My arms moved before the strikes even fully formed. Driven by instinct.
Another baton crashed against Trent and forced my guard high. The dagger slid under it and pierced into my thigh, shallow but sharp enough to steal my breath.
I clenched my teeth and forced myself to focus. If my body was already doing this subconsciously, then maybe I could push it further.
I tightened my grip and tried to read their rhythm more clearly. Derek's shoulders before he swung. The dagger wielder's hips before he lunged. The tiny signals that came just before violence. I searched for the next movement. Then the next.
Then—
A baton slammed into the side of my head.
White exploded across my vision. My balance vanished and I stumbled, knees almost giving out. Derek's second swipe came immediately after.
I ducked under it as it roared past my head. The room tilted slightly as I faltered backwards. My lungs burned. My arms felt like lead.
The dagger wielder lowered his weapon slightly, watching me sway.
"Well," he said, almost cheerfully, "that took longer than expected."
He glanced at Derek.
"Go on," he added. "Finish him."
He stepped back a pace and gestured toward me like he was granting a privilege. Derek twirled his weapons dramatically and started walking forward. I steadied myself against the wall behind me.
My head still rang. But it was clearer now. I understood why I had lasted this long.
I'd been predicting their attacks. Just a single step ahead.
Without realizing it, my mind had already cataloged their habits: the angle Derek favored when he swung, the slight pause before his partner committed. Those unconscious observations had been enough to stop the killing blows.
But to fight evenly against two opponents…
One step ahead wasn't enough. I needed more. Two steps. Three. Maybe more than that. The thought formed slowly as Derek approached. Why couldn't I do it? I'd already studied them. Their flow, their timing, their physical limits. I had the information. So what was missing? Was I simply not concentrating eno—
There was a quiet, mechanical click as a piece fell into place.
Derek was already in front of me. His baton came down with murderous intent. I was gone before it descended. The weapon smashed into the empty space where my head had been. He followed immediately with another swing, then another. Quick, savage strikes to pin me while I was still off balance. I didn't have a prayer of blocking them in my current state.
So I didn't try.
I slipped around the first. Stepped past the second. Leaned inside the third. My body performed a tired dance, following a routine it already knew by heart.
Lloyd flashed out in a short swipe. The blade sliced across Derek's thigh. He hissed and jumped back instinctively, retreating several paces as his leg gave a brief twitch of pain.
His partner blinked in open disbelief.
"Derek," he said, irritation creeping into his voice, "stop playing around and end this."
Derek didn't answer. He just stood there, staring at me. The caution in his posture was impossible to miss.
The partner exhaled sharply.
"Get your head back in the fight," he muttered. "We're ending this now."
He turned toward me and raised his dagger again, settling into his stance. Across the room, Derek slowly lifted his batons once more. I wiggled my shoulders and straightened up. The pain was still there. The fatigue too. But even these handicaps weren't enough to make this a fair fight.
I smiled. Then I lifted Trent slightly and crooked a finger at them. An open invitation.
Round two had just begun.
The dagger wielder came first again. A sharp silver line darting at my knee as Derek's batons swept in from the side toward my shoulder. A slight turn of my torso let the baton skim past while I spun to avoid the low stab.
I continued the motion, already preparing to dodge the next strikes. A baton snapped toward my temple. The dagger thrust up to my jaw. I shifted half a foot to the side with a slight twist of my neck. Both passed by with violent hisses.
The assault didn't stop, getting faster instead. The two carved through the air around me: slashes, pokes, crushing swings meant to overwhelm me the way they had earlier.
But it was different this time. I wasn't scrambling anymore. My movements were small, almost lazy. A tilt of the shoulders. A half step backward. A slight lean that let a baton whistle past my face. The sensation of being untouchable made something warm spark in my chest.
Derek swung again. Wide and angry. I rolled around his shoulder. The dagger went for my throat. I angled my head.
Miss after miss.
It was futile. I was a mirage. Present for only a moment then gone in an instant.
Their actions unfolded in front of me like a blueprint. I weaved between them and pivoted around Derek's flank. His baton swept through nothing and nearly clipped his partner's shoulder. The dagger wielder jerked aside and lunged again.
Too impatient. Too exposed.
My arm shot out.
Trent went for his throat, eager for the meal. For a split second I felt the slash land in my mind before it happened.
But my body lagged. Just slightly.
He recoiled violently, jumping backward before I could reach him. They both retreated. A pause hung in the air between us. The partner straightened slowly, shaking out his shoulders. His dagger lowered slightly, but the edge still pointed in my direction.
"You're desperate," he said after a moment, voice calm again. He gestured lazily with the blade. "You're exhausted. Anyone can see it."
His tone carried a faint, condescending arrogance.
"You can keep dancing around if it makes you feel better," he continued. "But the ending won't change. You're running out of time."
I didn't register the words. The miss replayed in my mind instead. My arm had been slower than I expected. I was more tired than I thought. That meant the fight had to end soon. Before the exhaustion caught up with me.
I drew a slow breath, mustered what strength remained, and stepped forward.
Then I went straight for the dagger wielder.
My weapons became extensions of my arms as I unleashed a rapid sequence of strikes. Short cuts meant to pry open his guard. Quick thrusts meant to force him back. The dagger flew in tight defensive motions, knocking each attempt aside while he retreated across the floor. I just needed to keep him busy for a while.
Three.
His dagger twisted outward to deflect Trent.
Two.
He shifted his weight to the right.
One.
I ducked.
A baton flew over my head with enough force that the air around it hummed.
The corner of my mouth lifted slightly. The real fight had just begun. These bastards were about to find out just what it meant to go against a far superior fighter.
A fighter operating at the fourth tier.
They adjusted quickly. The partner slid sideways while Derek angled the opposite direction, trying to close in on me from both sides.
I stepped through the narrowing gap before it fully formed. Derek had to halt his next swing to avoid smashing his partner in the ribs. The dagger stabbed again. I shifted my body and the blade brushed harmlessly past my side. Derek's baton followed a heartbeat later, missing the dagger fighter's arm by inches.
They tried again. Different angles. Different timing.
But all their actions were meaningless now.
Every move carried the same emotional weight behind it. Derek's growing irritation. The dagger fighter's tightening impatience. I drifted through their attacks like water slipping between stones.
Sometimes their weapons passed so close I could hear the faint scrape of metal cutting air. Sometimes they passed each other by only inches. Each mistake opened tiny cracks in their rhythm.
I started to reap my rewards. A quick flick of Lloyd carved a shallow cut along Derek's forearm. Trent slipped inside the dagger fighter's guard and slashed a thin line across his shoulder. Nothing major. Just reminders that I was still here. Still in control. A quiet thrill spread through my body as everything unfolded exactly the way I pictured it.
Why had I been limiting myself before?
All this time I was stuck on their techniques, weapon styles, stances, physical attributes. All important. But incomplete.
Combat wasn't just about mechanics. It was about people.
The way Derek's temper showed itself in the widening of his swings. The impatience creeping into the dagger fighter's breathing. The tone of his voice when he spoke earlier. Even the faint scent of adrenaline and anger drifting off them in waves.
Every detail was information. Put enough of it together and the rest became obvious. For fighters like them—strong, fast, but simple—the picture was easy to read once you stopped staring at only a single piece of it.
The partner finally snapped.
"Why won't you just die?!" he screamed.
He lunged forward with a furious stab meant to punch straight through my chest. Took him long enough. This time I didn't move away. My hand caught his wrist and I guided the blade sideways.
Straight into Derek. The dagger buried itself in the big man's side.
Both of them froze. Shock flickered across their faces. I acted before either could react. Lloyd drove in a blur.
The tip punched through Derek's eye and sank deep into his skull.
He screamed as blood sprayed outwards and splashed on our faces. I ripped Lloyd free, winding up to deal the finishing blow. I didn't get to.
I had to jump aside to avoid his collapsing body. He dropped to the floor with a dull thud. Dead.
The dagger fighter stared. For a moment he looked like someone waking from a nightmare, not yet realizing it was just a dream. Unfortunately for him, this wasn't the case.
The reality hit him quickly as fear flooded his eyes. He turned and ran.
Lloyd spun through the air a second later and buried itself in the back of his calf. He screamed and collapsed hard, clawing desperately at the weapon as his leg failed beneath him.
"Please!" he gasped. He tried to crawl away, dragging himself across the floor with trembling arms. "Wait, please!"
I followed slowly. Each step felt heavier than the last as the adrenaline started to drain out of my body. He looked back at me, eyes wide and wet.
"I won't get in your way anymore!" he blurted. "I swear! Just let me go!"
The words tumbled out of him in frantic bursts as he struggled to drag himself farther away. Lies. Not that I would have spared him regardless. Trent left my hand. The blade punched into his back, stopping him in his tracks.
His next scream echoed off the walls.
"I'll do anything!" he sobbed. "Just—please—!"
I reached him and pulled Lloyd free from his leg. He cried out in agony.
"Please," he whispered hoarsely. "Say something. Anything."
I said nothing.
I stepped in front of him and raised Lloyd high. Then, with one clean motion, I ended it. His head rolled across the floor as blood pulsed from the severed neck.
There was no time to celebrate or bask in the afterglow of my victory. All the energy drained out of me at once. I had planned to say something clever before finishing him. Something biting. Something memorable. Maybe give him a few things to think about in whatever came next. But my tongue wasn't listening to me.
And now my legs were starting to do the same.
The room tilted. My vision darkened at the edges.
Then the floor rushed up toward me.