They checked themselves and made adjustments. It wasn’t exactly a truce, but more of a ‘pull yourself together while you have a moment’ situation for both combatants.

As they took a moment, the invigorated crowd jeered and shouted as if they were attending a football match.

“Let’s go!”

“Watch his left!”

“Tenner on the Queen! Any takers?”

Never taking her eyes off John, she saw the heckling of the crowd was affecting him more than her blades ever could. His hand shook as he readjusted the straps on his armor - the remnants of her static made his limb tremble, a fact that only made the brawler's temper rise even further as the momentum of the onlookers pivoted to her instead of himself.

“She’s a fast one! John can barely keep up.”

“Man hasn’t found his own neck in a century under all that muscle. You think he can find a way to finish her?”

He tightened his vambrace with more force than was probably necessary before brandishing his punch daggers with an angry snarl.

Leta let out a deep breath and stepped forward, twirling a dagger in one hand as she observed John’s body seem to vibrate from head to toe. A low humming sound like a distant train filled the room as the spectators hushed with the promise of blood.

Even the growl of rage that slipped between his bared teeth seemed to resonate in his throat as he sprinted towards her.

“That’s his Tremor Sense! Watch out!” Allister shouted, though Leta barely had any time to register what he said before she was trying to deflect John’s coming attack.

This time, the fight was different.

She realized that his Tremor Sense acted as a buff for his reflexes, as the skill enabled him to sense every minute twitch of her finger and shuffle of her feet.

It was like fighting a reflection, if the reflection was an oversized, angry brawler, five times her weight.

She’d seen synchronized divers less in tune with each other’s movements than John suddenly was.

By the time she’d even thought to commit to an attack, he had already anticipated it and positioned himself to outmaneuver her.

Previously, her speed and velocity had made her feel like she’d been in a foot race with someone forced to crawl. Now, she was competing against an Olympic sprinter.

And she wasn’t doing well.

Without speed, she was a novice against a pro.

It was like trying to trick a mirror into moving in the wrong direction.

Every time she tried to feint in one direction, he was already shifting to bypass it with the precision of an expert.

Not only that, but he was making slight adjustments as his Tremor Sense predicted her movements coming closer and closer to actually doing grave damage.

More than once, he managed to just nick her with the tip of his daggers against her armor, the flash of sparks reflecting the concentration and determination to survive in her eyes.

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He was wearing her down like how a wave wears a rock smooth as his seemingly bottomless stamina fueled his fury.

The murmur of the crowd changed from excited to cheers to cautious whispers as the fight dragged on. Leta could feel a slow strain on her muscles building with each blow deflected, and each jab missed.

Her speed no longer helped against his ability to predict her moves; all John had to do was drag the duel out until she eventually slipped up.

From his eyes, she saw he also knew it. His red-cheeked anger from before morphed into a sort of blood thirsty joy that could only be found in those who thrived on brutality.

She had deprived him of his hundred-year-long ambition.

The instant he emerged from his grave, he vowed to achieve the position he’d been denied during his lifetime.

Betrayed by those he trusted, he was murdered before taking the boss position he had worked so hard for. Now, his only chance was that Blade.

He was owed this weapon - this testament to all that he had over come both in his first life and his second.

Then she waltzed in and took it from him.

She was a child among killers and expected to outmatch them.

The blood lust was clear in his eyes.

He wanted her to bleed. His desire was for that victory and the weapon that was rightfully his - the Blade that would give him the status he had fought and killed to achieve.

For him, it was personal.

And his prize was within arm’s reach.

It finally happened when Leta tried to feint left and was too slow to dodge. His dagger scraped across her back plating before finding purchase in the seam of her armor, his brute force pushing the blade past to burrow deep between her ribs with the force of a hammer. If her plating hadn’t mostly been in place, she was sure his fist would currently be holding one of her lungs. While her armor had prevented her form being impaled, it had done little to soften the blow of his fist.

[Host has received piercing damage from Miner-John.]

[Left lung has been damaged by a foreign object.]

[Ribs five through seven and all false ribs on the left side have been broken. Rib seven and first false rib have shattered and are compromising left lung.]

[Host has received bludgeoning damage from Miner-John.]

[Diaphragm has compromised. Oxygen intake has dropped by 75%]

Leta gasped, her mouth forming a surprised O, as that singular moment of clarity stretched into an eternity.

John’s pungent scent of tobacco and leather polish filled her nostrils as he leaned down for a heartbeat to whisper, “Little Queenies should know when they’re done.” Before pulling his dagger free and pushing her away.

[Bleeding is currently in effect.]

[The Host is stunned.]

[Stamina, power, reflex, and constitution compromised.]

A searing hot pain flared up in her side as she took a step backward, only for her legs to give out as she tumbled to the ground right on her injured ribs.

“Owww.” She groaned in pain, before muttering low, “Why is it always the ribs?”

She could hear several onlookers utter shouts of surprise, some of them moving forward as if intending to come to her aid until De Mar held up a hand.

"None may interfere." The Judge intoned, his glowing eyes fixing the crowd with an unbreakable will.

When his gaze rested back on Leta in her prone state, his eyes softened slightly, as if he were concerned for her wellbeing despite telling others not to assist her.

“Get up, lass.” Allister’s whisper sounded close. She turned her head back, noticing she’d fallen a couple of meters from the spot where her team was watching the duel.

Bonnie whined as she pawed at the ground, the beast desperately wishing to come to her and offer comfort.

Her eyes drifted over Hayato, who hadn’t said a thing or moved from his position since they’d arrived, his eyes as cold and as disapproving as ever.

She could see a muscle tick in his jaw, the only show of emotion that the assassin could muster.

Next to him was Atreus. Atreus scowled at her, his hands crossed over his chest. His eyes held hers, a flicker of amusement dancing in their depths as a mischievous smile played at the corners of his lips. “Tik tok, Leta. No time for theatrics.”

[Nanites rerouted for healing.]

Leta let out a breath as the pain of her wounds began to fade. She blinked, realizing her heart pounded with joy. It was a strange sense of adrenaline-filled happiness - that moment after skydiving or bungee jumping or any manner of dangerous feats when you’ve touched down and you’re laughing because you survived and you didn’t die.

[Ribs five and six and false ribs two and three have been repaired.]

[Damage to diaphragm has been repaired.]

[Stunned effect has been removed.]

She was alive. She hadn’t died.

More than that, she wanted to go again.