Hey there, dear readers.
Here's a little fun fact for you all.
The name Wade is of English and Scandinavian origin, and it comes from a verb meaning "to go" or "to ford" through rivers and difficult waters.
And Warren comes from the Old French word "warrene". Which means "animal park" or enclosure. Over time, it evolved metaphorically to mean someone who guards or watches over something.
Pretty neat, right?
Story time now. I took my first alcoholic drink the other day (I'm not promoting to drink by the way) I'm cool guy now, right?
Y'know how Vodka is usually drink in shots? Well, I drank a whole glass of it, in one go. My friend said No Balls, so I had to.
And I discovered I am a lightweight. Me and my friends panicked because it was supposed to be a chill hangout, I didn't even tell my family I was going out with them and I couldn't walk straight for three or four hours. It was fun.
I want to apologize for the delay in the chapter is because it's exam week. In fact, I finished writing this chapter just before the exam.
So I'm sorry if this chapter is a little underwhelming. It's not one of my best works.
For the time being, I think I'll stick to shorter chapters around 2,000 words so I can balance writing with studying.
Hope you've all had a great week yourselves!
Sincerely, The Author.
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We stared at each other for what felt like forever.
The rooftop was dead silent except for my ragged breaths and the faint hum of traffic below.
"Uuuh… so, where do we go from here—?" My voice cracked tighter than I wanted.
"Quiet." Her boot pressed harder into my chest, the steel of her sai lowering until it hovered just above my eye.
One slip, and I'd be half-blind—or dead.
I wheezed, forcing a crooked smile. "Quiet's good. I like quiet. I'm great at quiet."
She didn't smirk. Didn't even blink. Just studied me, her head tilting slightly, like I was an animal she'd cornered and was still deciding whether I was worth skinning. "Take it off." she said finally.
My brows jumped. I looked from her heel pressed into my chest up to her face, maybe staring a little too long. "I—I'm sorry? Take… what off?"
"Your hood. Off. Now."
I nodded quickly "Oh, Right right..." I raised my hands slow, nervous—Her gaze tracked every inch of the movement—And slowly pushed the hood back, exposing my face under the weak glow of neon that reached the rooftop.
She crouched, the steel of her sai didn't waver an atom, its point hanging in the air inches from my eye.
Her gaze swept over me with the kind of precision that wasn't curiosity—it was assessment. Almost clinical, like she was cataloging the damage done to me, with what weapon, how hard and how fast it was done.
There wasn't pity in her stare. Not even disdain. Only calculation.
She lingered on the half-healed cuts that I hadn't finished bleeding. The crooked patch strapped across my nose, a cheap fix that didn't quite hide the swelling. The way my jaw stayed tight, biting down on the pain I refused to show her.
"You're… young." she murmured, almost to herself. Her voice wasn't warm—but there was something faintly reflective in it. "Then again… Stick never cared about age when he forged weapons."
Ok, Wade. Play dumb.
"...Who's young?"
Not that dumb.
Her sai shifted, sharp and sudden, the cold prongs grazing my cheekbone. Steel against skin, quick and exact, drawing a line across my cheek. And yet—
"Don't." Her voice was sharper than the blade. Warm blood slid down slow, she wasn't bluffing.
She leaned in a fraction closer. The weight of her stare wasn't anger—it was clinical. Like she was peeling me apart in her head, bone by bone, deciding what to cut first.
"Stick mentioned you. Told me to… 'train' you."
"…Like a karate kid movie?"
Her gaze snapped like a whip. "No."
I swallowed, my chest still pinned under her boot. "Ok ok... So more of a Rocky movie then?"
Her jaw tightened. The sai tilted again, prongs grazing the skin just below my eye. "Do you ever stop talking?
"Only when I'm unconscious." I said with a smirk, because apparently I want to dig my own grave.
Her boot pressed harder into my ribs, forcing the air out of me. "...Don't mistake me for a kind teacher. Stick gave no rules, no limits. If you fail to meet his, my, criteria—" her voice didn't rise, but the weight of it pressed colder than steel. "—I end you here."
"Jeez... That's... That's one hell of a motivational speech."
"Do you think this is a game?!" The sai trembled against my cheekbone—not from hesitation, but from the force she was putting behind her grip. "I have to kill you. How do you not understand that?"
Her boot pressed harder into my ribs, making them creak. Auch.
"No, no—I get it." I wheezed. "It's just… if you do kill me, you'll completely ruin my night. So, y'know… maybe make it quick? No stabbing organs one by one? Pretty please?"
Her eyes narrowed with annoyance. "Stop making light of this." Her voice was steady, but the words snagged in her throat.
For the smallest fraction of a second, something almost vulnerable leaked through. "You're just a kid, I don't—" She caught herself. Her jaw tightened, eyes hardening, and the moment died.
What looked down at me now was only the stone-cold killer.
"Neither of us is here for jokes. Or comfort." Her voice was flat again, dangerous in its calm.
"You're here to survive me. If you manage to live through the night, you can consider yourself trained. Fail—" she angled the sai just enough to kiss the skin under my eye. "—and you were never worth the effort."
Fuck, so I'm trapped in this rooftop boss fight until I win? Great...
I swallowed, the corner of my mouth twitching despite the weight on my chest. "…And what if I just… don't feel like it? Say, I run?"
Her eyes didn't even flicker. "Then I hunt you down." The sai pressed tighter against my cheek, sharp enough to remind me the line between "sparring partner" and "prey" didn't exist for her.
Her words should have dripped with cruelty, but they didn't. There was no satisfaction in them. No sadistic impulse.
She finally eased the weapon back half an inch, though her boot stayed where it was.
Her eyes lingered on me, too long, searching. "Stick thinks you can be forged..." she said, voice quieter now, almost a murmur. "But forging metal takes fire, pressure and lots of pain. If you shatter in my hands…"
She leaned just close enough that I could feel her breath on my skin. "…then you were never steel to begin with."
I couldn't tell if she wants me to fail… or prove her wrong.
Her boot shifted slightly, grinding against my ribs as she straightened. Her sai hovered a heartbeat longer near my eye before she drew it back.
"When I take my foot off your chest..." she said, voice low. "you have three seconds to pick up your weapon."
Her gaze narrowed, cutting through me, sharp as her blades. "Hesitate, and you're dead."
She leaned down again, just enough for the edge of her sai to whisper against the cut on my cheek, reopening it. A drop of blood slid down my jaw.
She pulled back, eyes cold, unwavering.
"Understood?"
It wasn't a question.
It was a death sentence.
---
Her boot lifted. And for half a second, I stayed frozen—lungs heaving, ribs aching, blood trickling down my cheek.
Then the countdown started. Not out loud. Just in the weight of her stare.
Three.
I rolled, gravel biting into my palms.
My right hand shot out for the baton lying a few feet away.
Two.
The scrape of steel split the air behind me.
She moved—fast. A blur of red and black cutting across the rooftop.
One.
The fight had begun.
I barely closed my fingers around the baton before her sai came down.
Snapped my arm to the side—
Clang!
I wonder how many of these clashes it'll take before the baton splits in two.
The shock sent the strain up my arm, sending the jolt up to my shoulder.
My fingers numb a bit and my grip faltered, but I didn't let go. Couldn't. Not if i wanted to keep living.
"Fuck—!" I spat between my teeth.
She flowed past the clash, weight shifting with efficient smoothness, hunting for any openings.
I lashed out with a wild kick, foot smacking her thigh.
She barely flinched—flowing with it, spinning, like river water wrapping around a rock.
Her sai stabbed low, like a wolf fang, lunging for my ribs.
"Shit—" I threw my left arm down to deflect it.
Steel ripped through fabric—jacket, hoodie and skin too—like it wasn't even there.
Leaving a sharp line in my forearm, it stung as the blood spilled fast down my arm, staining my sleeve red.
I hissed in pain, instinct taking control before thought could. Lashing back, aiming for her head.
She slid under the swing, gone from my sight in a blink, felt her hair brush my jaw, and then—
Slash. Crack.
"Ghh—FUCK!" Her sai cut through me again, tearing a stinging, bleeding line across my chest before I could even react. The pain flared sharply, and then her elbow smashed into my ribs.
The impact detonated through my right side. The world turned white around the edges. She missed the fractured rib, but not the others. My balance collapsed—staggering sideways, almost planting myself face-first into the gravel.
Air ripped from my lungs in a single pained ragged wheeze. The baton nearly slipped from my fingers. It didn't. But even if it had, I didn't have the strength left to raise it again anyway.
My body screamed at me to stay down, stop moving, give up. But she didn't strike—thankfully. Instead, she gave me a brief pause, sliding back a step, eyes narrowing, head tilting. Studying me.
"You're way too predictable..." she murmured, voice low and steady.
Not mocking. Not even cruel.
Just… a teacher lecturing a student, just as Stick did back then in my living room.
I was able to gasp in three deep shaky breaths. Letting the pain burn itself out. Trying to mentally prepare my body for the next strike.
After that, she rushed at me again. Faster. Sharper. Deadlier.
Her knee speared towards my gut, a blur of red and black.
I jammed my left elbow down just in time, bone colliding with bone. Causing a dry, ugly thud sound to echo through the rooftop.
Pain screamed up my arm, numbness claiming my fingers.
"Nggh..." She staggered an inch and grunted through clenched teeth.
It seems like her leg got numb too... Good.
It's payback time.
I swung wide, baton cutting through the air, aiming for her ribs.
Clang!
Her left sai caught the strike mid-swing—trapping it clean between guard and blade, even in a reversed grip—stopping it dead.
My arm jolted to a halt, figners tendons screaming from the strain. The baton trembled uselessly in her iron hold, while her fingers didn't budge an inch.
Then her right sai lashed upwards, hunting for my throat. Death in a blur.
"It's over..." She said coldly, it wasn't a taunt. It was a verdict.
This is it, here we go...
Darkness.
---
"Fuck that!" I growled, and seized her sai with my bare hand. Metal pierced itself deep into my palm, slicing deep, nerves screaming in pain.
My vision blurred, pain clouding my vision, but I clenched my teeth and bit it down.
Pushed the blade down until it met her hand—her fingers between the Sai guards. Twisting her grip with everything I had in less than a second.
I know, I said i'd be more careful with Wade's body, but its obvious I'm not winning the 'first round' anyway. So yeah, fuck it, I'm going all out.
Her eyes flickered to my palm then back me—the smallest crack in her flawless composure. Then I slammed my forehead into hers.
Yeah, apparently that's my signature move now. Give myself a concussion.
She staggered back a few meters, her boots scraping across the gravel. Her right sai tore free from my hand as it slipped loose, blood-slick and dripping. My baton tumbled free from her left sai also.
She grunted and snarled, one of her hands pressing against her forehead. Her gaze swept over me like a blade—Pissed off, but also, maybe, just maybe... impressed.
"Ugh... You're one of those." she said, voice low, bitter. "Now I know why Stick chose you..."
While she yapped, my eyes dropped to my palm. Trembling from the pain as blood poured from both ends, pattering against the rooftop. I was losing too much blood, way too fast.
Could I even close it?
I gave the thought a second to ferment. Then realized that if I tried to patch it, she'd slice me open while I was distracted doing so.
And even if I managed to wrap it with something, the bleeding wouldn't stop. Homemade stitches weren't going to fix this either since it wasn't a clean cut either—too wide, too deep, gaping even.
I didn't even bring the medikit, shit.
I'm fucked... I fucked myself over.
Ugh, whatever, next round I'd do better.
"Huff huff… Oh, Yeah? For all I care, you and Stick can go fuck yourselv—"
Before I could finish, her foot shot forward—I couldn't even blink.
A brutal kick slammed into my jaw, snapping my head sideways with a crack that rattled my skull. Pain exploded across my face, sharp and stinging.
Then, almost simultaneously, her other foot smashed into the side of my knee. My leg buckled like wet cardboard beneath me, folding awkwardly as my balance evaporated.
I hit the rooftop hard, my left elbow smashing into gravel. Tiny shards bit into skin, sending shocks up my arm.
Gasping, I tried to catch my breath, but the air felt thin, heavy, and laced with the taste of my own blood.
She was on me immediately, relentless. Sai thrusting towards my throat, again, in a blur.
The motion was precise, predatory—like a hawk diving for its prey.
Instinct or just plain fear took over.
I rolled, gravel shredding my palms, the blade of her sai biting into the concrete where my neck had been just a second before.
Dust puffed into the air, stinging my eyes, scraping my cheeks, mingling with sweat. My own blood filled my mouth little by little.
I forced myself up onto one knee, vision hazy, heartbeat pounding.
Swinging blind, I let desperation guide my arms rather than any kind of technique.
The baton connected with her hip, the impact was hard enough to make her stagger half a step—but her retaliation was immediate.
Her knee shot forward, smashing into my already-broken nose. The cartilage crunched, agony detonated across my skull, and the world blurred. My teeth clacked hard enough I swore one cracked, the shock rattling through my jaw.
Blood gushed, flooding my mouth by the gallon—thick, warm, metallic. It burned down my throat, choking me.
I spat it out across the gravel, tasting it's coppery flavor in my tongue and gums, coupled with the taste of a looming, bloody and painful defeat. But even while drowning in pain, I lunged anyway.
Not with strength—didn't have none left—but with rabid stubbornness.
She pivoted again, smooth, perfectly timed. Her shoulder slammed into my chest, slamming me back into a vent.
Pain exploded along my ribs, each one screaming at me.
The baton nearly slipped from my grasp again, my fingers trembling, I swung, miracously cracking it against her shoulder—desperation fueling every ounce of strength I had left.
A lucky hit.
She staggered back a step, eyes flashing, jaw gritted like she was chewing steel.
Then her knee crashed into my stomach. Air tore from my lungs, and bile clawed up my throat.
I doubled over, coughing, choking—But I didn't let go of the baton.
I jammed it upward, into her chin. Her teeth clicked shut hard.
One of her sais dropped. And in that second, I rammed my elbow into her and drove her backwards.
Both of us hit the gravel, her snarl in my ear.
Pain screamed through every part of me. I snatched up one of the sais she'd dropped in the struggle and press the blade and my baton crosswise against her throat.
For one insane heartbeat, I thought that maybe—just maybe—I had her.
My pulse thundered in my ears. Her skin was hot beneath the steel, her breath brushing my fingers.
"Huhff… huff… it's over." I rasped, blood dripping from my broken lip, arm trembling.
Her eyes narrowed, steady, unflinching, drilling into mine.
"Over?" Her voice was low, softer, almost amused—Like we were just chitchatting, trading gossips instead of punches.
I tightened my grip, annoyed, teeth clenching, but my hand shook.
She tilted her head, purpously pressing her neck against the blade, letting the edge graze her skin without a flicker of fear. "Don't tell me... you're afraid of killing?"
Her tone curved, sharp like her sai. "Yknow... That hesitation—that mercy. It makes you weak."
I shook my head, spitting the pooling blood in my mouth to the side. "Oh, fuck off, would you?"
"Stick won't like that" She let the word drag, deliberate, as if naming the obvious.
I let out a short, harsh laugh, chest heaving. "Yeah, yeah… Stick this, Stick that. Why don't you stick this 'fuck you' up your ass?"
"Stick saw what I see now." Her lips twitched—mocking, cruel in its honesty. "You don't have the will to do what it needs to be done to properly end a fight... That's why he sent me."
I growled through the blood in my mouth, pressing the baton and sai harder. "Shut the hell up!" Then she twisted, her body liquid.
The world flipped.
My face slammed into the roof, air ripped from my lungs, her knee pinning my back.
Her fist drew back, blade angled for the kill. Her eyes met mine. Steady. Cold.
The blade froze an inch from my throat.
Blood dripped from my hand, my lip, my chin.
My ribs ached with every breath.
Her gaze swept over me, not cruel—just measuring.
"You're easy to rile up too... not that it matters now, you're dead."
"Heh… fuck you," I rasped, bitter blood filling my mouth.
Sliiid.
The blade sank into my throat. Fire erupted along the the soft vulnerable flesh. Blood poured, my lung clawed for air and all they got was blood. My hands clawed uselessly at her wrist and the blade.
My vision tunneled, edges blackening, the world narrowing to pain, and the impossibility of escape.
I prefer the stab to the heart. It was painful, way more painful, but it was also quicker and cleaner…
Then darkness...