Springing forward, she pressed her attack and lashed out with her dagger, aiming for the seam connecting his shoulder armor.
The tip of the blade made contact with the seam but failed to pierce, the edge sliding off the side of his shoulder armor in a spray of sparks as her static electricity locked the muscles in his arm.
‘Dammit!’ Leta cursed as she rolled away from the stab John tried to deliver at her prone back. She could feel his blade connect with the platting on her back, the force of the blow knocking the breath from her throat.
Leta could see a slight tremor in his arm as he got his footing underneath him, which caused a wicked smirk to spread across her face.
She pushed forward, a strange thirst for a carnage fueling her steps as her static electricity increased to the point it was just barely visible.
It became her saving grace.
As she’d learned from throwing Koa and the others around the courtyard earlier, there was no true defense when it came to a knife fight - there was either upright or dead. As he advanced to strike her chest, she met him with her knife positioned at her wrist, anticipating his parry.
In a human fight without armor, his blade would have cut into the inside of her forearm, effectively disabling her arm as the damaged tendons would have made holding her blade a challenge.
With her body soaked in static, an electric charge traveled up his arm and caused John to let out a painful grunt as his muscles twitched and spasmed.
Like a ballerina swirling around their partner, Leta used the flat of her blade to circle the limb and push the attack away, ducking low again to slice at his stomach while Koa’s words from their earlier knife sparring rang in her ear.
“With these kinds of weapons, you want to be constantly be changing levels. Not just distance level from between you and your target, but the vertical distance of your attack. Attack high. Attack low. But don’t get comfortable and attack in the same area. Forget your guard - there is no guard with a dagger. It’s all about flanking.”
Leta leveraged the force of her abdominal blow to lift her blade and aim for his exposed neck, simultaneously using her other blade to parry a further assault.
Surrounding them, the crowd cheered for every successful hit. An audible “oooh” echoed through the room at each close call.
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“You got em’!” Allister cupped his hands around his mouth to shout over the noise of the onlookers as Bonnie barked encouragement. Even stoic Atreus had found himself enraptured by the fight. One arm crossed over his chest as he traced over the stubble of his jaw in contemplation.
“Come on, Leta.” He breathed, his words lost in the clamor of the crowd as the duel pressed on.
Leta’s heightened intellect had quickly picked up on the slight tells of John’s fighting style - the way he would take two slight steps forward before lashing out with his left fist or how he would fake a left hook, only follow it up with a swing of his right.
Her brain was like a super computer as her abnormal mental fortitude and elevated reflexes pushing her thoughts to inhuman speeds. The longer the duel, the faster her mind raced.
While her mind was operating at an incredible speed, the lack of muscle power prevented her from ending the fight quickly.
Being able to predict a move was one thing.
Being able to get your hand up in time to deflect the metal-tipped punch coming at her was another.
She’d discovered this fact when John’s dagger glanced off her forearm, the strength behind the blow even indirectly was enough to rattle her Atlanite enhanced bones.
Leta had nearly lost an eyeball when the blade whizzed past her face, a hair’s breadth from impaling her cheekbone.
Her best chance of surviving and winning this?
Be just quick enough to dodge his attack and just slippery enough not to end up in his crushing grip.
If she could land a blow to his face, great, but more likely than not, she’d win this thing by slowly chipping away at his armor until it eventually gave way and left him exposed.
She was luckier than she had any right to be when she managed to hit the seam of the same shoulder armor that she’d been aiming for earlier. A flash of silver blinded him as the tip of her blade glinted as it tore through the bindings, a thin red line appearing where it sliced into his muscle.
The sound of his pain filled the air as the steel pierced his flesh, making him react with a defensive lash that forced her to step back and created some distance between them.
Eyes darting, they scanned their bodies, searching for signs of injury. John held up his arm as the pauldron flopped over on its still connected side like a banana peel, revealing to the onlookers a deep cut the length of a hand across his arm, which dripped hot blood down his limb and onto the floor.
The crowd became restless at the sight of it as words of surprise and shock echoed in various languages around them.
“First blood to her Majesty!” De Mar called out like an announcer at a wrestling match.
“At’ a girl!” Allister couldn’t help but cheer, his large hands thunderously applauding as he watched her pick herself up and stand in a relaxed but ready fighting position.
Atreus looked at Mic to see his reaction.
The other General stood like a silent sentinel, arms crossed over his chest, his features hard and set like granite.
It was hard to miss what she lacked in weapons mastery, but she made up for it in every other aspect, her sharp mind studying her opponent and quickly adjusting her tactics.
That notion made Mic cautious about the entire situation.
John scowled, inspected his damaged armor, removed the damaged plating, and tossed it aside. He wasn’t even breathing hard by then, where Leta’s lungs felt as if they were pulling in double the amount of air.