The metallic sound of impacts echoed across the courtyard in short, constant bursts, too fast for the average person to follow, as if two forces were colliding without any pause between exchanges. Victor and Scarlet moved at high speed, advancing and retreating in fractions of a second, blades clashing at tight angles while the ground beneath them already showed clear marks of accumulated pressure. The heightened gravity no longer seemed to affect his movements as before, but it was still there, compressing every action, making each mistake more costly.
Victor was being pressured. That much was clear.
Scarlet wasn't just attacking; she was dictating the pace of the fight. Each blow came with precise intent; there was no wasted movement, no hesitation. She didn't need to be stronger than him. She didn't need to be faster in the raw sense. The difference lay in control. In reading the game. In how each of her attacks already considered his response before it even happened.
