Wamillust

  Isran took a deep breath and looked up at Ara. The lightning mage was as focused as her, her channeling staff held tightly. She had switched out the smaller one she had been using, it had resembled a wand.

  Isran tuned out the sounds of the crowd and focused only on her opponent. It wasn't perfect, she could still hear some of the cheering, but it was good enough. She had picked up an extra dagger just in case. Ara was a formidable foe. One lightning strike could signal the end of the match. The mage was powerful. And Isran wasn’t a defense-heavy combatant.

  When the fight was signalled to start Isran had only noticed because of the shift in Ara’s stance. The mage used her single-target lightning spell like a rocket uncher. She would brace her feet against the ground and fire off.

  Isran didn’t dive to the ground. Lightening was fast and Ara was very good at following opponents with her channeling staff. Isran dropped to the ground instead, narrowly avoiding the lightning and crawling towards Ara.

  The mage moved her staff lower, but Isran had anticipated that and rolled out of the way, her sword shoved away before she rolled.

  From fighting with the mage Isran knew Ara’s direct spells had a five-second cool down. She wouldn’t be able to reach Ara in five seconds and the mage knew that as well.

  Isran watched her take a few steps back as she got to her feet and ran towards her, counting.

  Three.

  Two. She stopped and discretely reached for her dagger.

  One.

  Ara deyed by a second, and the extra time gave Isran an advantage, one she used to throw her secret weapon

  Ara was fast. Isran wondered if it was reted to her having a lightning css but didn’t dwell on the thought. As Ara moved out of the way of the dagger Isran started running towards her.

  She had gotten enough time to stop before the shorter mage and bring her sword down on her.

  Ara dodged and sent a smaller lightning spell to her, one Isran had never seen before.

  It made her momentarily seize up and her arms grow heavy. Isran dropped to the ground and rolled, a lightning strike narrowly passed by her. Morgana would be proud of her anticipation.

  Ara was no joke, Isran was enjoying the fight. The mage was forcing her to come up with defensive maneuvers she would’ve otherwise never thought of. She would make sure to thank her after she won the match.

  Ara’s spell sted a total of three seconds, long enough in a fight. She had moved a bit away from Isran, but not far enough out of her sword’s reach.

  Isran moved onto her knees, the spell Ara had cast was fading and with a smooth swing, she hit the smaller woman’s stomach.

  But Ara would not go down without a fight. She focused on creating distance between them as she stumbled away.

  Isran’s eyes flicked to where she had struck the mage. There was barely any blood and although Ara seemed to be in pain she didn’t seem to be about to back down.

  Isran ran towards her, the mage stumbled back and lifted her channeling staff, one hand holding it up while her other hand did its best to press against her bleeding belly. Isran didn’t have to bother dodging. Ara fired wrong, her spell was quite narrow and even when stray lightning pieces flew in other directions they caused next to no harm.

  Isran barreled forward and stopped just shy of her sword’s range.

  When she swung Ara adopted a tactic Isran had been using in the fight thus far, dropping to her knees and tackling Isran by her legs.

  Isran grunted when she nded on the ground, surprised by the attack. Ara moved to her feet and aimed her staff again, this time hitting her target but Isran had already moved away.

  Isran would always train falling and rolling as well as diving. Dodging was important thanks to the fact she didn’t have a shield, and blocking some attacks with her sword was a death sentence.

  Isran was panting lightly, her heart beating and body giddy. Ara—even with her injury—seemed to have a lot of fight still left in her. So did Isran.

  Isran held her sword tighter and locked eyes with the mage, they were at a standstill, Isran thinking about what step to take next and Ara staring right back at her.

  Their stare-off sted three seconds before Ara went to lift her staff. But she had grown weaker as a result of her injury and was slow to aim her weapon. Isran used that time to get close, and since Ara was too slow to move and her focus was on her sudden weakness there was no hinder to Isran’s swing.

  Ara did pull a fast one on Isran at the st second. Seemingly using all her strength to move her staff into a defensive position. Isran’s sword made contact with the hard wood of the channeling staff, but with a double-handed swing meant to be as fast as possible, and with Isran's strength, Ara flew a few feet to the side and fell to the ground.

  Isran ran towards her, her staff had been cut in half and a bleeding cut was on her upper arm. She was a smart woman, she had proved it throughout the fight, so before Isran had even reached her she shouted out her cim of surrender.

  Isran became acutely aware of the crowd then, her awareness back in full force. She winced at the loud cheering. It had been a good fight. She wished Neos had video cameras it would’ve been cool to watch the fight back.

  Isran sheathed her sword and lifted Ara from the ground. The mage muttered a small thank you as Isran walked her to the medic tent.

  Like the previous day the announcer made a joke about their position. Isran felt the urge to gnce down at the woman in her arms. To take note of how she looked, how she felt against her.

  But knowing it was not the time or pce and that the urge could very well be from Vycor or Sephia she stopped herself and quickly dropped the woman on a small bed surrounded by healers.

  She had once again fought the first match of the day and was going to make sure she watched the others. The looming threat of legal issues and the possibility of her actions being influenced by the gods would have to wait.

  She hadn’t told her girlfriends—she briefly wondered if Calliope was included in that—how she felt about it to its full extent the night before.

  She was worried above all that she was just a puppet. A tool the gods had pced on Neos and that although she felt like her own unique person she wasn’t truly that.

  She sat in the competitor stands and looked up at the women she cared about most, and mirrored their smiles. Even if she wasn’t a unique person the feeling of liking them, loving them felt real to her. And if everything else was a lie she hoped to the gods that that was not one of them.