[center][h3]The Lady in White vs. Gaben's Chosen Round 2[/h3][/center] The two contestants circled each other, slowly coming closer amidst the duplicate sculptures of the gallery’s foyer with mismatched gaits. The man moved carelessly, the sword dangling loosely in his hand pointing at the floor. An easy smirk etched on his features. The woman moved precisely, rapier in hand held at a ready stance, facing her enemy. Her brow was knitted into a stern scowl. At an unspoken signal, the threshold was crossed. Pithy’s rapier suddenly streaked out, silver blade lancing at the man’s eye like a lunging snake. A metallic clang answered her strike. Sparks flew off the man’s blade as her rapier was batted away with enough force to shoot a lance of pain up her wrist. She ground her teeth, desperately holding onto her grip as the man swung back to slash at her unprotected torso. Pithy fell back on instinct, cleanly stepping out of the orange sword’s shorter reach and resuming her guard as the enemy surged forward. She deflected a diagonal slash, avoiding the weight of the blow by ducking under it and maneuvering towards her foe’s right where his triangular shield could not be brought to bear. A searching slash at the man’s flank was pushed away as easily as her first strike, but just as her enemy began to retaliate, the sheet of ice spun out from behind Pithy, forcing him to step back to avoid its sharp edges. The young man did not pursue as Pithy passed by, spinning around to face him. Instead, he rested his sword on his shoulder, the orange particles surrounding it glancing off of his clothes. “Forgot to put some points in agility, Elsa? I thought you’d be faster than this. That’s what happens when you don’t specialize!” Pithy grunted, too short on breath to answer the man’s nonsense. [i]By contrast, the brat doesn’t even look winded,[/i] she thought. Some things had become clear from the rapid exchange. Her enemy possessed strength and reflexes beyond the norm, but his technique was sloppy in turn. [i]A dullness born of overconfidence, of reliance in superior physical capabilities, or a lack of proper training?[/i] It would not be the first time Pithy crossed swords with a superior opponent. Many warriors in her world found ways to enhance their abilities beyond their natural limits, be it with magic or a god’s favor. But it was more than that. For the first two decades of her life Pithy had thrown herself against such enemies again and again, and her body still remembered the struggle. Back then, her enemies had surpassed her utterly. This time, Pithy knew she had the benefits of experience and skill on her side. Those could bridge the gap. The man clicked his tongue and lowered the sword from its resting place. “If you’re just gonna sit there, I’ll move first.” Her eyes fixed on the man’s phylactery, chained around his neck and visible to all who cared to look. She [i]could[/i] defeat this enemy in a duel of blades, but it would be a close thing. However, skill with a blade was not the only tool she could count on. There was no need to give an enemy the benefit of a fair fight. Particularly when it would not be her last. The runes in her rapier lit up. He was on her in a flash. The sword streaked forth in a downwards slash, but it met empty air as Pithy spun to the side, sleeves of her coat flaring like a ballerina’s arms. She had seen the man tense before his lunge, read the movement of the blurring arm, and began to move aside at the same time as the man sprung forth. Rather than streaking out in retaliation, her sword swung down with the spinning motion. Where the tip struck the floor, a tide of white spread, suddenly the engulfing the floor around them. Her enemy, who had charged after her, suddenly stumbled, plain surprise written in his face. Comprehension and irritation quickly replaced it. Already committed to the lunge, he threw out a slashed, but unbalanced as he was by the slippery ice that covered the floor, it carried none of the previous vigor. Pithy parried the half-hearted blow with ease, steady as a rock even on this terrain, and sidled up to his flank. She rose the arm that held her six-shooter in her left hand and struck out with a vicious backhand aimed at the back of her enemy’s head. Which was no longer anywhere to be seen. Pithy’s arm flew through empty space, losing her balance as she was carried forward by the momentum. [i]What just—[/i] “Nothing personal, ki—SHIT THAT’S CHEATING!” Pain flourished from her right thigh. Shocked and struggling to regain her balance, she placed her weight on the injured leg. White filled her vision. For a moment, she clearly understood what had happened. The man had somehow appeared behind her, and she had called the shield of ice to protect her when she heard his voice. It had crashed against the orange sword, offsetting an incoming slash, so that instead of finding her unprotected back, it had dug into the back of her leg. And then she was in the present again. She was turning, regaining her balance. Her mind was in a jumble. [i]It can hold my weight. Did I faint for a moment? It can hold my weight. Stand as long as you can stand you can live. He got past the shield I fainted so I didn’t see.[/i] She could see baleful green eyes boring down on her, and the danger galvanized her thoughts. The hand with the six-shooter was extended, so she aimed the weapon at the approaching foe and unloaded. The weapon’s rapport rang in her ears, but the enemy had raised his shield and the projectiles crashed against it as he approached. When he got close, the shield swung outwards, striking the shooter’s barrel and wrenching the weapon out of her hands. She saw it as the man began to shift his weight, drawing his blade forward for a stab. Unbalanced by the ice he stood on, Pithy had just enough time to react. She barely managed to plant her feet below her, white threatening to drown her vision once again. Her rapier flashed, deflecting the opposing sword in a shower of orange sparks. She angled her blade forward, once again aiming her thrust at the man’s exposed flank. The man’s right arm blurred as he brought his blade back into position. But this time, he had been baited. Pithy flicked her wrist, completing the feint and weaving past the orange blade to stab into the arm that held the sword. Blood welled as the tip buried itself in flesh, then tore open a long gash as Pithy slid past. The smirk that had appeared on the man’s face as he moved to obstruct her attack converted into a pained grimace. “Gah, fuck, that cut!? These hard mode nerfs are bullshit!” Pithy wasted no time as the man backpedaled. Wounded as she was, and with an enemy capable of something akin to teleportation, a close quarters duel had become much too risky. She needed to create some distance fast. As the man broke away from her, she drew out her power and pointed her rapier at her enemy. A focused blast of wind suddenly erupted from the tip of her weapon, crashing against the man like a wall of bricks, sending him flying several meters back into the art gallery, a stream of profanity following his wake.