Chapter 14. #2
“Fine,” he spits the words as though I’ve pointed my gun at his head and forced him to say them. Yet even though I’ve staked Christian’s life on this match… I feel nothing.
Even when I stand in the ring, facing down a giant, all the emotions I’ve learned, feel far away.
Olsen jumps up onto his toes, as if stretching them out and the air changes.
It’s a single moment, where he appears frozen, looking every bit like a wild bear that’s about to strike.
He breaks out of stillness with a powerful pounce, closing in on me within a heartbeat and swinging his fist towards my head.
It’s slow.
Still, I evade only by a shadow’s edge, and the force of the punch whips by with a powerful wind.
If he hits any of my vitals, it would mean an instant end to my existence as Christian Adler.
Still, my thoughts are quiet.
The fight has only just begun but I’m being forced back instantly.
When he aims for my face, I move my head away just in time to evade and when he aims for my body, I’m sure to step out of reach with minimal movement, conserving my energy.
I’m able to get behind him before being closed in by the ropes of the ring and he smiles at me, much like a cat enjoying a running mouse.
Olsen’s strength is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Each punch holds power that would make an average man flinch, and even as I successfully move out of the way, a kick follows the attack, forcing my arms up to block and pushing my entire body backwards on impact.
Still, there’s no time to rest, no time to breathe as he follows through again and again.
His offense shows nothing of the laidback man I saw with the team the other day, no—Olsen is deadly and vicious and any lapse in attention could mean death.
But it’s still slow.
Much too slow to end me.
And he notices. He notices I’ve not attacked—notices the look in my eyes that says I’ve not lost focus—that I can see everything.
The men outside the ring grumble about the fight, about my evasion and my lack of offense, but Olsen’s smile only fades more and more as the seconds tick by.
I’m pushed into a corner and forced to take the strike—sometimes a barrage of them in tandem, attempting to break down my guard—and each of them hits into my bones over and over and over again.
But even though I’m being pushed back, he can’t break it.
Finally, the barrage ceases. Both of us are still, chests heaving, watching each other without a sound. I can feel the lingering impacts of his attacks along my arms, somehow still vibrating in my bones.
He’d expected me to fall a long time ago. But his barrages haven’t been effective, and I haven’t attempted to attack. He’s becoming wary, suspicious. His experience is surely telling him something is wrong. Something is off.
And you can always expect a professional to trust his instincts.
He unsheathes his knives from where they sit on his legs and finally, after three days of empty nothingness, I feel a sliver of emotion. Something unfamiliar and short, like a spark in my chest—a flame trying to come to life.
I unsheathe Tobias’ knife from its holster around my waist, and it flickers again, something raw and unknown and… mad.
When it finally lights inside me…
This time I am the predator and the wildcat.
I break out of my stillness with new ferocity, and this time, it is Olsen’s turn to be pushed back.
It is my turn to take away his chance to breathe.
He blocks my blade because I want him to, and he is forced back a step because he is unprepared. But I don’t wait, I step forward to get into his guard and pivot around him, dragging my blade across his open side, to slice along his skin, before he can react.
By the time he turns back to me, I am there again, tearing his guard open with my blade, and pivoting to swing my foot into his chest.
He staggers backward, caught off guard, before recovering quickly and stepping in to attack, once again biting into that oafish strength of his that could probably uproot trees.
But I am incited by strange madness.
I step out of his swing to hold onto his arm and propel my body up onto his.
After all, I was a cat for 571 days.
I have both balance and flexibility.
With all his strength, he balances the both of us quite well.
I have his throat straddled between my thighs when I tug sharply on his hair to force his head up and hover my dagger dangerously close to his eyes.
But I long for more chaos. More anarchy.
And I wonder what expression I must have.
I pull the blade away from his eyes to stab him twice in his arm instead, and he tries to pry my thighs apart, having dropped his knives prematurely.
Failing to loosen my grip, he punches my thighs instead, striking repeatedly, and there is that raw power again, vibrating against my bones, but I don’t want to let him go yet.
I want to show him he can’t make me.
When he strains against his lack of oxygen and pulls his hand back to strike again, I loosen my grip on his throat and push off his back to throw my legs over my head.
The moment I land, I’m re-channelling the momentum like a spring and propelling myself forward. So the moment he turns, I am there to drive my fist into his torso.
Again. Don’t wait. Pivot around him, take advantage of his unbalance, and this time plunge the dagger into his side. Two quick stabs. One high one low.
He stumbles, but I’ve already surmised he’s made of the things titans are made of. I haven’t done enough damage yet, but I’m close.
When he turns, he tries to back away, but I won’t let him. I sweep his front leg out as he’s retreating and he falls. I could use the dagger clenched tightly in my fist to drag it along his throat. But I don’t. It wants to play more. The mania inside me.
My fist connects with his face instead. Once. Twice. He’s finally starting to wear down. He holds up his arms to block, and I swivel my body to throw my foot under his weak guard, deep into his torso.
I let him grab it for now. Let him lift me off the ground and toss me to one side.
I roll out of the way just in time for his foot to stomp powerfully into the floor where my head was.
Once. Twice. The force of it practically shakes the ring.
I finally make it to my knees when his fist comes down from above.
I tilt my body out of the way for him to strike the floor and dash forward to drag the dagger against his side once more.
But he grabs me by the back of my shirt before I can escape and pulls me backwards, into the corner of the ring.
This time, I have nowhere to run.
His fist drives into my torso and I can barely block it. My bones vibrate on impact again.
I’ve watched enough television to know corners are bad.
Before he can strike again, I’m dropping as low as I can, and throwing myself under the space between his legs, taking advantage of his wide stance.
I turn along the floor to throw my heel into the underside of his knee and he falls.
I grab him by his ponytail to pull him backwards and the moment his back hits the floor I’m driving my dagger down towards his face.
He rolls out of the ring and the dagger stabs emptiness.
There’s a euphoria in me as I turn to watch him, one that feels familiar this time.
We watch each other in silence. Each of us is panting on either side of the ropes, and it takes some force to get the dagger out of the ring floor so I can stand.
I can finally feel the expression I have on my face. And I understand now why this chaos feels so familiar to me.
It reminds me of Reuben.
It’s Reuben’s smile.
“Don’t run, Mr. Veteran.” My voice sounds foreign with the smile on my face and I tilt my head. It’s so much like Reuben that I can almost feel him there again, whispering in my ears like he had on the cruise ship. Stoking this fire in me to play and destroy.
I crouch as I wait, but Olsen makes no move yet to come back into the ring. He’s watching me with an expression I’ve never seen anyone make towards me before.
But it’s an expression I’ve always seen people make towards Reuben.
One that says it’s looking at a monster.
Olsen is the first to break the silence, “I'm unarmed.”
“Ha.” I wave the knife in his direction, “Which part, exactly?”
He doesn't say anything more, and I know he's waiting.
So you realize you can't beat me in a knife fight, and want to run?
I stand, backing up to the point where he lost his knives, and use my foot to slide one of them out of the ring for him. He doesn't even look at it.
Sore loser you are, Mr. Veteran.
I kick the other knife on the floor out of the ring and slide Tobias’ knife in its sheath at my back, backing away to encourage him to get back in the ring. I won't let him turn back the tide, even if it goes back to a fist fight. The chaos in me is impatient. Excited. Waiting.
He gets into the ring slowly, and I can count the seconds as we both wait for the other’s next move.
The stillness is broken like a gunshot in the air as I throw my body forward, turning in the air in a back kick to throw my right foot into his torso, beneath his guard. I’m suspended as I follow through, with a left kick to his head, but he blocks with his arms.
By the time I regain my footing, his hands are locked and he's dropping his arms down in an attempt to hit me down onto the floor. I have to roll out of the way, and the strike reverberates beneath my feet.
I throw my left fist into his stomach but although I land the blow, both of his hands grab onto me.
Now that I'm caught, the madness shivers. I punch his hold in an attempt to weaken it, moving in closer to punch his side where I’d slashed him with my dagger, but he uses his whole body to pull me into the air and down onto the floor.
The impact travels through my entire body.