Back on our feet, she didn't hesitate. Nicole came at me with a barrage of strikes, no buildup, no warning, just violence. Her style shifted again, blending kickboxing with brutal efficiency. A low roundhouse toward my thigh forced me to pivot, followed immediately by a short, sharp elbow aimed at my jaw.
I ducked, stepping into her space, but she wasn't finished. Her knee snapped upward toward my ribs. I deflected it with a forearm block, gritting my teeth as her momentum pushed me a step back. The blade in her hand danced between the strikes, slicing through the air in short arcs, never reckless, but always threatening.
I countered using karate, redirecting her blows with precise parries, letting her power slide off my arms instead of absorbing it. Every movement was about control trying to make her use more energy than me. When she struck high, I swept low, and when she spun, I advanced. My dagger snapped forward, clashing against hers with a high-pitched ring that echoed through the empty store.
Sparks flew and neither of us gave ground.
Nicole shifted low, twisting her hips as she locked my left arm under hers. She tried to pivot for a shoulder throw. I felt the shift and moved with it, dropping low and sweeping my foot behind hers to break her stance.
But she was faster.
Her foot planted against a toppled chair to her right, and she used it like a springboard. She vaulted up and over me, flipping clean over my back with a gymnast's grace. I turned, but she was already landing in a crouch behind me.
Something cold tapped the center of my spine.
I froze.
"Two-one," Viktor called with a chuckle. "Clean."
I turned slowly, my jaw tight. Nicole stood, her breath coming quick, her blade lowered.
"Cute," I muttered.
She smiled. "You left your back open."
"Not next time," I said, adjusting my grip.
The match wasn't over yet.
We circled again. Slower this time. The heat of the earlier exchanges had cooled into something more calculated, like two predators testing each other's limits. Her eyes never left mine. Every step she took was deliberate, and I mirrored her. The noise around us, the quiet cheers, the shifting boots, the breath held by the crowd faded behind the focus.
Then she moved.
Nicole spun on her heel, whipping into a backhand slash aimed at my temple. A flashy move meant to bait me, but I was already moving. I dropped low, sliding beneath the arc of her blade, my boots gliding over scuffed tile as I swept behind her.
My leg hooked around hers just as she started to pivot. Off-balance, her footing gave making her stumble.
I surged upward, catching her mid-spin and driving us both to the ground. My shoulder hit her chest, and we crashed with a hard thud. Dust kicked up around us as her dagger skittered across the floor.
Before she could react, I pinned her wrist with one knee, twisting her other arm gently but firmly until her fingers opened. My dagger kissed the side of her throat, not enough to break the skin, but the pressure was undeniable.
"Three," Logan called from somewhere behind me.
The crowd erupted behind us, cheers, gasps, and one too-loud wolf whistle that sounded like Mitch.
Nicole exhaled hard, breathless, but smiling. Her eyes met mine, sweat clinging to her brow.
"Damn," she laughed, still winded. "You don't miss a step."
I offered my hand again. "Neither do you."
She took it, and I pulled her up. We stood side by side, shaking the dust off our clothes, our shoulders rising and falling in near-unison. No more jabs. No need for banter.
We didn't say anything else, and we didn't need to. The respect was mutual, and it was earned.
Viktor was bouncing on his heels, grinning like a kid with a new toy. His gaze lingered on the now-settled sparring circle where Nicole and I had just finished. The excitement in his eyes was unmistakable.
"Well," he said, clapping his hands, "watching you two was foreplay for the soul. I need to hit someone before I combust."
A few people chuckled.
"I'll go," Liam said, stepping forward and rolling his shoulders.
The shift in energy was immediate. The room quieted as the two men faced off. Viktor's grin widened.
"Ah, the angry soldier steps forward," Viktor said, cracking his neck. "I respect it."
Liam glared before pulling his baton from its holster, the familiar metallic click echoing through the room. "You're not using those axes, right?"
Viktor held up his hands innocently. "No axes. Promise. But I'll need a weapon. Something fair."
"What are you thinking?" Nicole asked, eyebrow raised.
Viktor looked around before pointing to a long wooden broom handle propped near the counter. "That'll do."
Liam blinked. "A staff?"
Viktor grinned. "Yes! Much more fun. Besides—" he picked it up, twirling it once with an ease that spoke of far too much practice, "I wanted to give you a handicap."
Liam's jaw tightened. "You think I need a handicap?"
"Oh no," Viktor said with mock seriousness. "I think I do. I'm getting old. My bones are fragile. This way, if I lose, I have an excuse."
The smug humor in his voice didn't help. Liam's grip on his baton tightened.
Before Liam could say more, Logan stepped forward and gently grabbed his arm, leaning in close. Whatever he whispered was too quiet for anyone else to hear.
Liam listened, jaw clenched, and then gave a single sharp nod.
"Logan, you will be your ref," Nicole added, stepping back.
"Wonderful," Viktor said, tapping the staff against the floor twice like a walking stick. "Ready when you are, Sergeant."
Liam slid into a defensive stance, calm but coiled. "Let's see what the old man's got."
Logan raised his hand. "Ready…Set"
Both men stilled.
"…Go."