Kiki was thrown to the ground by the powerful strike. Gasping, she rolled and tried to stand, sword dragging beside her, balance failing. The taste of iron crept up her throat, but she bit it back.
She had known she would have to deal with a technique and be at a disadvantage. She had imagined how to respond. But in that moment, nothing her brilliant mind offered could match the reality hurtling toward her. Her opponent honed his technique for months, while she never even had a proper spar.
She rolled, dirt on her face, heart pounding. Theo saw her lips moving — she was trying to anticipate him, thinking three steps ahead — but her hand moved too slow.
Leif pressed forward, relentless. His strikes came like clockwork, perfect spacing, minimal wasted motion. Kiki tried to block, but her blade rang with each impact, jarring her arms.
A clean cut along her side brought a cry from her lips. She stumbled back, barely staying upright.