Rodgers jumped back.
His body launched away from her, creating distance, giving himself room to think. He landed lightly on the deck, his blade still raised, his eyes still fixed on his opponent.
He said to himself, his inner voice quiet, calculating, uncertain.
So she wasn't lying to me. He watched her stand calm, still, patient. Every word she has said up till now it's the truth.
She's only going to defend.
He tightened his grip on his blade.
But when will that change?
He drew back and then continued to launch his attack.
His body shot forward his blade cutting through the air, aimed at her throat, at her heart, at her life. He moved with speed, with precision, with desperation.
She moved.
Her body twisted her katana rising to meet his strike, deflecting it, redirecting it. The blades clashed CLANG! and sparks flew.
He attacked again.
His blade stabbed forward fast, precise, deadly aimed at her stomach, at her lungs, at her end. She stepped aside her body flowing like water, her blade swinging in a gentle arc that pushed his strike away.
He attacked again.
His blade swung from the side a horizontal arc that should have cut her in two. She ducked her body dropping low, her blade rising to meet his, deflecting it upward.
He attacked again.
His blade came down a vertical strike that should have split her skull. She twisted her body turning on her heel, her blade rising to meet his, redirecting the force harmlessly into the deck.
He attacked again.
And again.
And again.
Each strike was met, deflected, countered. His movements grew faster, more desperate, more wild. But her defense remained unbroken a wall of steel and grace that refused to yield.
Rodgers attacked.
He moved like a storm his blade a whirlwind of steel, his body a blur of motion. He was not just fighting he was pouring everything into his strikes, screaming his will into every swing.
But Mutaro was like still water.
She moved through his attacks dodging, deflecting, redirecting. Her katana flowed like a river, smooth and inevitable. She was not fighting she was waiting.
He struck high.
She blocked.
He struck low.
She evaded.
He struck left.
She countered.
He struck right.
She redirected.
It was like watching a dance a choreography of violence that seemed almost beautiful. But beneath the beauty was a terror that gnawed at Rodgers's heart.
She's not even trying. He felt the thought burn in his mind. She's not even trying!
He attacked again.
His blade shot forward fast, precise, deadly aimed at her chest. She twisted her body spinning on her heel, her blade rising to meet his, deflecting the strike harmlessly into the air.
He overextended.
The opening was there a breath of space between her guard and her body, a moment of vulnerability that he could exploit.
He lunged.
She moved.
Her blade cut through the air not at him, not at his body, but at his weapon. The steel sang as it struck his blade, redirecting it harmlessly past her.
He stumbled.
She stepped back.
He regained his balance.
She waited.
Rodgers attacked.
And attacked.
And attacked.
His body was exhausted. His arms were heavy. His breath was ragged. But he could not stop.
He would not stop.
She was like a mountain unmoving, unyielding, unbreakable. He could chip at her, scratch at her, beat against her with all his strength but she would not fall.
He attacked.
She deflected.
He attacked.
She redirected.
He attacked.
She countered.
He attacked.
She waited.
He attacked.
And this time this time she did not deflect.
She moved.
Her body shifted her weight shifting to her front foot, her blade rising to meet his, her eyes flickering with something that had not been there before.
She spoke.
"Now."
Her voice was calm, measured, absolute.
"I'll switch to attack."
She paused.
"You will now defend." Her voice hardened. "Or die."
in the space between the promise and the strike, between the defense that had held and the attack that was about to begin.
Rodgers stood, frozen.
Mutaro stood, ready.
And the sea roared