Marcus hit the ground hard.

The impact knocked the air from his lungs.

He landed right at Elowen's feet.

He didn't have time to groan. He didn't have time to even think.

Above him, Elowen raised her leg.

She wore high-heeled boots. The heel was sharp.

She brought it down, aimed straight for his chest.

It was a stomp meant to crush ribs.

Marcus felt a chill scream through his nervous system.

His body moved on pure instinct.

He rolled to the right.

The heel slammed into the dirt where his heart had been a second ago.

Thud.

The ground vibrated.

Marcus scrambled backward.

He didn't stop moving until he was ten feet away.

He pushed himself up. His legs were shaky.

He gripped the rusty dagger with one hand and held it out in front of him.

His stance was wide. His knees were bent.

He tried to look dangerous. He tried to look ready.

Elowen didn't chase him.

She left her heel embedded in the dirt for a moment.

Then, she slowly pulled her foot free.

She looked at him.

Her lips curled into a smile.

"Oh," she cooed. "You fight as well?"

She tilted her head.

"I like pets that try to resist," she said. "It makes breaking them more satisfying."

She took a step forward.

"But that is strange," she murmured. "I don't sense mana from you."

Her eyes narrowed. She studied him like a painting.

She looked at his feet. She looked at his grip on the dagger.

Her smile turned sadistic.

"Let me guess," she whispered.

She pointed a finger at his shaking hands.

"Is this your first time holding a dagger?"

Marcus felt a twitch in his left eye.

His grip tightened on the hilt. It felt slippery.

Sweat pricked at his forehead.

She was right.

He had held kitchen knives. He had held pens.

But he had never held a weapon with the intent to kill.

Elowen saw the twitch and her smile widened.

"Or perhaps," she continued, her voice dropping an octave. "Is this the first time you have ever held a weapon?"

She took another step.

"Let alone a dagger?"

Marcus felt his heart hammer against his ribs.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

More sweat rolled down his temples.

How did she know?

It was specific. It was accurate.

'Can she read minds?' Marcus thought frantically. 'Is that her magic?'

"Oh," Elowen said suddenly.

She laughed. It was a soft, tinkling sound.

"Are you thinking about how I know that?"

Marcus froze.

His eyes went wide.

'Okay,' he screamed internally. 'She can definitely read my mind.'

He felt naked. He felt exposed.

If she knew his thoughts, he had no chance.

Elowen giggled.

"You are so easy to read," she said. "Your face is like an open book."

She lowered her hand. Her expression sharpened.

"I don't need magic to see incompetence," she sneered.

She gestured to his legs.

"Your feet are too far apart. Your balance is off."

She gestured to his arms.

"Your elbows are locked. If you strike, you will hurt yourself."

She looked him in the eye.

"You have holes in your defense everywhere. I could kill you three times before you blink."

Marcus gulped. The sound was audible in the quiet forest.

He shifted his weight. He tried to correct his stance.

But he didn't know how.

He forced a grin onto his face. It felt brittle. It felt fake.

"Maybe," Marcus said. His voice cracked slightly.

He cleared his throat.

"But what if I am faking it?" he lied. "To lure you in?"

He tried to look confident. He tried to channel the heroes from the stories.

"Maybe I want you to think I am weak," he added.

Elowen stared at him.

Silence stretched between them.

Then, she laughed.

It wasn't a polite laugh. It was a bark of genuine hilarity.

She threw her head back. Her shoulders shook.

"Faking it?" she gasped.

She wiped a tear from her eye.

"Are you telling me that you can fight?" she asked.

She pointed toward the direction of the cave

"You?" she mocked. "The one who left a child behind?"

She took a step closer. The air grew heavy with her intent.

"The one who ran like a coward while a child protected him?"

Her words cut deeper than any blade.

"Even a donkey is smart enough to figure that out," she spat. "You are bluffing no one."

Marcus felt the blood drain from his face.

She saw right through him.

He wasn't a hero. He wasn't a warrior.

He was a fraud.

He tightened his grip on the dagger again.

He had no other choice.

He had to fight her.

He analyzed the situation. He forced his brain to work.

She had a whip. It was a mid-range weapon.

It had reach and speed.

He had a rusty dagger. It was a close-range weapon.

It was short. It was dull.

'She has the advantage,' Marcus thought grimly. 'She can hit me from ten feet away.'

He watched the whip trailing in the dust.

It wasn't glowing blue anymore. She wasn't coating it with mana.

That was good.

'A whip takes time,' Marcus reasoned. 'She has to pull it back. She has to swing.'

There was a delay. A split second before impact.

'I can dodge it,' he told himself.

Then he remembered the fight in the dungeon.

He remembered the blur of motion. The sound of the whip cracking against the shields.

'No,' he corrected. 'I can't dodge it.'

His reflexes were average. Her speed was supernatural.

If he tried to dance with her, he would die.

He looked at her body. She was slender. She wore a torn dress.

'Close range,' Marcus decided. 'Her weakness is close range.'

A whip was useless if you were standing chest-to-chest.

He needed to close the gap.

He needed to get inside her guard.

It was a terrible plan. It was a suicidal plan.

But it was the only plan he had.

"Fuck it," Marcus whispered.

He just needed to delay her.

He needed to buy time for the dragon girl.

Elowen watched him.

She didn't attack. She waited.

She observed his internal struggle with a look of boredom.

She glanced toward the forest.

She knew exactly where the dragon girl had gone.

'I can catch her anytime,' Elowen thought. 'She is injured and terrified.'

She looked back at Marcus.

'But my mood is ruined,' she decided. 'I need to vent.'

She smiled cruelly.

'Why not play with this toy first? He seems desperate.'

Marcus took a deep breath and exhaled sharply.

Then, he moved.

He sprinted toward her.

He didn't run with grace. He ran with desperation.

He lowered his head. He charged like a bull.

Elowen watched him come.

She didn't raise her whip. She didn't step back.

She sensed his intent.

'He wants to get close,' she realized. 'How adorable.'

She decided to let him.

She stood perfectly still. She let him close the distance.

Ten feet. Five feet. Two feet.

Marcus saw her inactivity.

Hope ignited in his chest. A fierce, burning spark.

'She is arrogant!' he thought. 'She is underestimating me!'

He was close now. Within striking distance.

He swung the dagger.

He put his entire body weight into the strike.

It was a horizontal slash, aimed for her stomach.

He swung fast, faster than he had ever moved before.

The rusty blade sliced through the air.

It was inches from her dress.

'I got her!' Marcus thought.

His eyes widened. He could almost feel the impact.

Then, Elowen moved.

She didn't block. She didn't panic.

She simply stepped to the left.

It was a small movement. Casual. Efficient.

But it was just enough.

The dagger passed harmlessly through the empty air where her stomach had been.

Marcus stumbled.

His momentum carried him forward. He was off balance.

He looked up.

He saw her face. She was grinning. It was the smile of a devil.

"Too slow," she whispered.

She didn't use the whip.

She lifted her knee and drove it upward.

It slammed into Marcus's stomach.

Kwak!

The air exploded from Marcus's lungs.

His eyes bulged. His mouth opened in a silent scream.

He felt his diaphragm spasm.

He doubled over.

He was suspended on her knee for a fraction of a second.

Then, Elowen raised her hand.

She held the handle of the whip like a hammer and brought it down.

She struck him in the center of his back. Right between the shoulder blades.

THUD.

It felt like a stone block had fallen on him.

Marcus collapsed.

He hit the ground on all fours.

His dagger skittered away from his hand.

He gasped for air, but his lungs wouldn't work.

Elowen didn't wait.

She stepped back, pulled her leg back and kicked him.

Her boot slammed into his right side.

CRACK.

Marcus felt something break. A rib, maybe two.

The force lifted him off the ground.

He flew a few meters.

He rolled in the dirt. He came to a stop against a tree root.

He lay there and curled into a ball.

The pain was blinding.

It washed over him in waves.

He tried to breathe. He managed a shallow, jagged gasp.

"Ah... ah..."

The sound was pathetic.

Fear clawed at his mind.

She was too strong. She was too fast.

He couldn't beat her. He couldn't even touch her.

'Get up,' a voice screamed in his head. 'Get up or die.'

Adrenaline flooded his system. It dulled the pain just enough.

Marcus scrambled.

He clawed at the dirt.

His hand brushed against cold metal.

The dagger.

It had landed near him. It was a small miracle.

He grabbed the hilt. He squeezed it until his hand shook.

He forced himself to stand, and raised the dagger.

He was shaking and bleeding from his mouth.

He groaned.

'Broken ribs,' he diagnosed. 'Definitely broken.'

Every breath felt like a knife in his chest.

He looked at Elowen.

She was watching him. She looked bored again.

She tapped the whip handle against her leg.

"Is that it?" she asked. "Is that all the resistance you have?"

Marcus gritted his teeth.

He forced himself to ignore the pain.

He pushed the agony into a box in his mind and slammed the lid shut.

'Focus,' he told himself.

'Focus, Marcus. Focus.'

He stared at her. He locked his gaze on her eyes, and steadied his breathing.

The pain was there. But he had a job to do.

.

.

.

A/N:

Next chapter coming in around 10 to 15 minutes.

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