Knight And Day

Wick's final opponent is a Red Knight and a previous two-time winner. Is this the end?

Wick would have preferred that the House set the fighter for this fight, and that he not be fighting a friend. The slightest positive was that Johtakin needed to warm up. That made him smile a little; Lord Ilcartius had such a low opinion of him he hadn’t thought he’d make it to the final round.

A few more minutes of rest was a far cry of what he would need though. The guard had made his fame in the Ring itself, that was how he had managed to gain the favor of Ilcartius, and sponsorship to become a knight.

He was, due to that, also a Knight. Elixir.

Against a trained fighter on retainer, it had taken both his immense edge in having secretly drunk the Knight’s cup, plus his hidden abilities as a Scribe. Now he would face someone more skilled with far greater physical abilities.

Not good.

He left the den and approached the Ring. The crowd hushed, like a family gathered around a loved one taking their last breath. Him. Johtakin stood loose and easy within, a friendly smile on his face but fire behind his eyes. No half-measures.

He stepped in, gangway out on his left sloshing in the water, stands to the right creaking with people. Sand and dirt pricked the bottom of his feet but his skin was worn rough and thick. Extra haze and mingled smells drifted across the open circle, renewed in the break between the rounds he’d won, and the round everyone knew he went to lose. Hands up.

The branch dropped.

If fighting Locke had been like the weaves and bends of a river, he and Johtakin danced like a raging ocean swollen against cliffs by storm. Unlike his fight with Locke, where he had been part of the storm, now he was just a boat on the waves.

The guard moved in, two light steps perfect placement, a jab snapped out and caught him on the ear. Duck, jab back, miss, dance away, around, three more from Johtakin in the time he could only think of one, and then a change to the steps and he had to start over.

The man was fast, and more skilled than any fighter he had ever fought by a good ways. But, there was still his one trick. Even Johtakin, twice the winner of this exact moment within the Ring, would not expect a fighter to deliver devastation from a non-levered punch.

Then he tripped. As fast as Johtakin was forcing him to move, he was well passed his comfort level, and the unfamiliarity with his abilities once again kicked him in the teeth.

Johtakin nearly did kick him in the teeth, a wicked sweep of the leg with violent force missing by about the distance of his own nose. He made sure not to face the direction of the kick or else put that guess to the test.

The crowd hollard in approval, and he realized they’d seen that move before. It must have been the kick he won with before. Good to know; getting hit with it would end him.

Like Locke, however, Johtakin saw no reason to switch up his pattern if he was faster, and able to pin his opponent inside it. Duck, jab back, miss, dance away, around… There it was. He shot forward and powered his arm through the punch far faster than it would have otherwise gone.

Whiff. The man sharding dodged it. Unbelievable.