Energizing hormones coursed through her bloodstream; NANs, once quiet were streaming through her, egged on by her focus and fury. Nevertheless, their populations would attrite with the strain, other networks would be sacrificed in repairing the wear and damage the fight ahead would cause. The longer the fight, the greater the cost would be.

Make this quick.

Althea turned her sense on the figure of big, bad Goshram, through the mass of the crowd, through the dark and smoky room at her target – of anger, of disgust – of choice.

She pushed her way through the packed seating, enhanced senses taking in the assault of smells and crude complaints of the people she rubbed by. She began to feel hot – unhooked her borrowed, insulated over-shirt – dropped it to the floor. Overheating and surging hormones could swiftly cause her to pass out.

She had to figure out how to keep the packed crowd out of harm’s way. If Goshram fought as large as he was, then his very reach would risk injury to plenty of people. Her initial challenge would have to get everyone’s attention – get them to move.

Whether by chance or superior awareness of his own, Goshram glanced at her long before she reached him. Predictably, he followed the glance with a leer.

Noticing, the companions at his table also turned, some of them leering, some not. Doing her best to ignore them, Althea concentrated on Shirae’s lesson. She hoped envy was the strongest part of their bond. It would be the easiest one to break.

A waft of rank odor came from the group, not out of place, simply stronger, stale sweat and smoke and the astringency of alcohol. Pungent, the testosterone wafting off them would be uplifting. She wouldn’t have turned her sense of smell down if she could. Uplifted meant more endurance, more energy, a better chance of success.

She was within two paces before her target changed posture, physically accepted her presence, pushed his chair back from the table. Sitting down, he was almost as tall as she was. His stance was still relaxed – not expecting to fight – still posingn

From close up, there was more to Goshram than merely hairy, muscular and tall. The thick tendons at his wrists suggested physical power well beyond her capacity.

You have speed – speed, balance and imprinted precision. Strength isn’t enough to win a fight.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Makan hadn’t been a militaristic world. His legacy was likely geneering for entertainment and displays of exaggerated masculinity – not for precision physical combat.

Her training ensured survival fighting against highly trained combat specialists. She repeated in her mind; you can do this. He bent his head to the left, looking over her movements; she worked on making them a little off balance, a little awkward. Make him underestimate you.

“I’m told your name is Goshram,” she offered, mouth rolling over the ugly syllables. She feigned difficulty keeping eye contact.

He smiled at the sound of his name.

“That was quick,” he replied, showing large, heavy, yellow teeth. “Your man sure gave you up easy.”

His words sounded slightly slurred, his gaze a touch bleary. Goshram was intoxicated, at least a little. More advantage to her.

Althea rubbed her bare arm, felt the heat of the NAN activity radiating through her fingers. She looked down at the hot, pale skin – then back at him – steadied herself.

“He’s not my man,” she said, voice firmer, angrier, louder. “And he didn’t give me up.”

His friends quietened, she looked over at them. They looked at her, back at him.

“I’ve come looking for real greggas,” she said with a sarcastic tone loud enough for all those nearby to hear. “With brains… not braggarts.”

Goshram laughed, big, loud and deep, still secure in his superiority. She turned back to him, stood her ground.

“You have quite a mouth on you, girl,” he said, pressing a meaty hand on the table to steady his rise. She had to look up to meet his gaze now. He towered above her, leisurely cracked his knuckles. They popped loudly. “I know just what to fill it with.”

“Please,” she opened her arms, gratefully hearing movement, now around them both; scrape of chairs, whispers of anticipation. “By all means, get up.”

She kept her eyes on him, his movements, assessed his vulnerabilities – stepped back a couple steps, dropped her gaze to his belt – looked back up into his eyes.

“Traejan said you were looking for a challenge,” she smiled up at him, added in a loud voice, “You don’t seem like much of a challenge to me–” She let the word hang, waiting for him to cut her off. She heard the bark of a laugh from behind her, to the right. Goshram scowled.

“You should get used to being laughed at,” she goaded him. “That’s all any of these people are going to do after tonight.”

“You’ll regret talking to me like that,” he growled, taking her bait, swaggering a couple steps towards her.

“I’ll let you know now, I’m gonna hurt you, but just enough to make you scream” he promised, “Then I’ll find some other things to do to you.”

Althea took another step back, burning rise of adrenaline making her start to shake, loosened and tightened her fists, felt a moment’s uncertainty. Did she have enough NANs left to do this? She was about to find out.

“You’re welcome to try,” she replied playfully, glancing around at the watching faces, smirked back at him. “But I bet my friends over there that your reputation is a lie, that you couldn’t even win a fight against me.”

He replied with an ugly grin, lowered his brow.

“Tell you what,” he responded. “You go first. I can take a little fight, from a little woman.”

To draw him in then, she stepped forwards, overextended herself, taking an ineffectual swing. With surprising speed, he was all over her.