The noise of the crowd rose with her heart rate as the duel display continued. Monae's smile slipped away as she found Deathstroke slowly, but steadily upping the tempo. At this pace, at this speed, if she didn't start picking up her heels, he would outpace her. It wouldn't take more than a minute, if that.
Perfect.
She kept her speed just even with his, taking a few glancing blows that would've hurt if she let them connect. All the while she kept trying to get around his side, for an opening that continued to be countered. On the outside, it was very clear who was going to win.
He hadn't won yet though.
It took no end of skill and a bit of luck to survive in the criminal underworld. Being a name so well known was fantastic, but it created it's own set of problems. Specifically, pieces and parts of yourself carried and announced you to strangers that you would never seen. A weapon, a look, a personality flaw... like a bad temper or a dangerous ego. Even Monae had heard of his arrogance. Of course Deathstroke thought he would win, he'd done little else in life. Of course, it was just a matter of waiting out the lesser combatant, until the moment came when he was superior- because he always had been.
So the moment their paces met, when he was moving faster than her... that wasn't a surprise at all. Monae was overtaken.
The one thing winners never expected was how much work it took to keep yourself in second place. Good but not great. Just on the edge of the spotlight. But she had years of experience in toeing the line, and in a blink she brought them to bear.
Deathstroke outsped her, and she stopped short. In a split second display of years of progress and precision, she wound up just when she knew he couldn't reverse in time.
Monae blurred, winding into a full compasso, her leg a sudden whip of force and power that she directed straight into Deathstroke's face.
When she felt bone give under her heel, she smiled.
He was still going to win.
But she'd make him suffer for it first.