Chapter 38
The Long Forty-Nine
I’ve seen the benefit of teamwork plenty of times. Two or more pitters will come together to create a unit stronger than the sum of its parts. There is an elegance to the synchronicity of it. A beauty in the way the very best at it will adapt to all manner of threats, and overcome enemies that all logic says should crush them.
We don’t really do things that way in House BloodRock. Yes of course there are teamwork exercises we do, and there are a few partners like Morean and Task that work together extremely well. I am not and have never been someone in a team with that kind of synergy. When it comes to me the trainers in my house have always stressed individual excellence and that suits me just fine.
Apparently, it suits Shahim and Locke pretty well too as it takes almost no effort to shatter their formation and break the fight into a pair of individual duels. I don’t have to recklessly break their charge, or fake them out or anything. I step forward and swing my axe at Shahim and the fish boy meets me head on. It occurs to me that the two of them haven't had much time to develop
synergy. Not to mention the big antlered boy needs a lot of room to fight effectively. Room the extremely nimble Xael is happy to give him.
Where the two of them begin an elaborate dance making use of the huge pit floor. My world shrinks down to myself, my axe, the fish boy, his axe, and almost no space in between.
Fighting shahim is like fighting a mirror. The way he moves, the axe he is armed with, even his height and reach are all nearly identical to my own. The result is the two of us slamming our axes together, blade head to blade head once, twice, three times in a row. I think even the crowd instantly realizes they are seeing something special as their roar seems to increase every time our weapons meet.
If this was the kind of tale we got told as kids I think we would separate, and take a tiny moment to acknowledge the skill and strength of the other and the unlikeliness of what just took place.
This isn’t a story and even if it was I’m terrible at that sort of thing anyway. Instead, we both drive forward testing the strength of the other, hafts and axe heads locking together. I’m stronger, though not by much. Still, it's enough of an advantage that I risk letting go of my weapon with one hand, to slam a fist into his face.
He slips his head to one side, too slow to avoid the punch entirely but he moves enough that the blow skims across his cheek rather than smashing into him. The scales on his face slice open my knuckles. A wound that hurts more than such a small cut has any right to.
The fish-boy twists his axe, separating the two weapons and attempting to crack the side of my head with the end of his axe's handle. I duck under it, but Shahim tucks his elbow a little as he swings the weapon. An elbow I dip my head right into.
The blow lacks the force of a true elbow strike, but with my own momentum added to it has no problem at all splitting open the skin above and below my right eye. The torn skin instantly begins leaking blood, but my fur matts around it and keeps the liquid from dripping into my eye.
During all this Shahim is trying to pivot off to get a favorable angle where he can attack me but I can’t really do the same back. Ignoring the pain in my face and hand I lash out one-handed with my axe. It might look like a wild artless swing, and it is but it meets the fish boy in the side as he turns.
He makes a little wince but being from house Saffron he is equipped with one of those red-painted cuirasses. Which sadly stops the blow from introducing his ribs to sunlight. Matter of fact it doesn’t even slow him down.
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Weird scaled features locked in a mask of concentration Shahim unleashes a modified version of the classic ‘ high, high, low high’ combination. I like the way he shifts his weight to set up the next attack each time. Something I neither have time to admire nor desire to tell him I'm impressed by.
I knock the first two attacks aside, silently thanking whatever god is listening that my axe didn’t break from the continued abuse. Before forcing him to end the combination early by bringing my axe forward in a tight overhead strike that both guards most of my body and threatens to end the fish boy.
Technically if Shahim commits he can easily drive the head of his axe under my combined guard and right into my knee or calf. The only issue is it requires a willingness to endure my own axe coming down on the crown of his skull.
The fish boy makes the choice that doesn’t result in me ramming sharpened metal through his brain.
Pulling a combination up short is almost never free. It puts him off balance and he does an awkward little semi-hop away from my attack.
I don't waste the opportunity, surging forward with a series of heavy two-handed attacks intended to either hack him apart or keep him reeling. Fully aware of what I’m doing he desperately parries while trying to get his feet set properly again. Panic lends him speed and while I batter his own axe into him, I can’t quite break his guard.
Managing to reset his stance Shahim instantly goes back on the offensive. He thrusts the head of his axe at my chest, twisting the weapon mid-attack so that the blade goes from vertical to horizontal as it moves.
‘Saffron’s golden Balls! This kid is good.’
I think as the flat top of the weapon slips past my guard and slams into my chest. I grunt as something cracks in my sternum. I double over a little and now it's my turn to stagger off balance. I can tell he senses the kill by the way his eyes light up and he surges forward with two-handed swings just like I did.
We may have switched roles but there is one key difference between when he was off balance before, and my own broken posture now. I’m pretending.
The fish boy brings his axe into a diagonal slice aimed at my collar.
‘Got him.’
Twisting out of the way I whip my own axe one-handed upwards, hooking the head of my blade behind his I yank him forward. Shahim is pulled stumbling into me, with my free hand I grab the lip of his cuirass just below his neck ensuring he can’t escape. Given a few heartbeats, the fish boy will disentangle his axe or drop it and this will turn into a grappling match.
I don’t give him even one. Lunging my head forward I bring the pit of spears that is my mouth closed on his face. My teeth rip through flesh and scales, catching on the soft bone of his nose. The appendage cracks between my jaws, as the boy starts to scream. Everyone always screams when I bite them. It doesn’t matter how tough you are, there is just something about getting part of you eaten that just feels wrong on a level beyond pain.
I give a little jerk of my neck and our duel is over. His nose and a significant chunk of the flesh around tear from his face. I don’t think anyone can stand up to that. The fish boy takes an unsteady step back as I let him go. His knees buckle and while he doesn’t collapse exactly, he does slowly fall into a sitting position, all the fight gone from him. I recognize the slow movements and the blank look on the fish boy’s face. He’s gone into shock.
Spitting out the wad of flesh I use the little breath the blow to my chest hasn’t stolen to let out a roar of exaltation.
Forty-nine heartbeats. That was how long our fight lasted. Maybe the longest forty-nine heartbeats of my entire life.