Quoth The Raven

First Blood

The next morning, Amity walked into the fencing hall with a purpose, the only one in a black uniform. The air was wild with the clash of steel against steel, but it was easy enough to navigate.

Towards the end of the hall, one of the fencers tumbled to the ground as their opponent pointed their sword at their chest.

"The match goes to Boscha," the fencing coach droned.

"What? No fair!" The loser whipped off her mask, revealing a girl with choppy purple hair, freckles, and angry brown eyes. "Coach, she tripped me! You saw it!"

The fencing coach rolled his eyes, indicating that this wasn't the first time this happened. "It was a clean strike, Bria."

Boscha removed her mask, shaking out her bangs. "Maybe if you whined less and practiced more, you wouldn't suck."

Bria gave her a dirty look as she got back to her feet.

"Seriously, Coach, when am I gonna get some real competition?" Boscha complained, twirling her sword in her hand. "Anyone else wanna challenge me?"

"I do," Amity announced.

Everyone turned in her direction, gazing at her with expressions that ranged from bewilderment to mild fear.

"Awwww!" Boscha looked her up and down, a fake smile on her face. "You must be that psychopath they let in."

"And you must be the self-appointed queen bee," Amity responded. "Interesting thing about bees—pull out their stingers and they kneel over dead."

An ooooooh rippled through the room at that.

Boscha wrinkled her nose in disdain. "Bria doesn't need you to come to her defense. She's lazy, not helpless."

"Are we doing this or not?"

After a beat, Boscha shrugged and put on her mask, getting into position. Amity followed suit.

"En garde!" the fencing coach called.

In the ensuing minutes, Boscha proved herself to be quite the opponent, infuriatingly enough. But she didn't have a father who insisted on impromptu swordfights every Saturday afternoon, and she didn't have the Blight fighting spirit.

First point went to Amity.

Unfortunately, after that, it became apparent that Boscha had been going easy on her before. The score was even in a matter of seconds.

Amity pulled off her mask so everyone could see the dirty look she was giving her opponent. Boscha removed hers with a triumphant grin.

"That first point was so beginner's luck," she purred, pacing around Amity like a lion about to pounce. "Are we gonna finish this, honey eyes?"

Oh, it is fucking ON.

"For the final point, I would like to invoke a military challenge," Amity told her. "No masks. No tips." She smirked. "Winner draws first blood."

Murmurs and gasps sounded throughout the room. Boscha gave the fencing coach an incredulous look.

He shrugged. "It's your decision, Boscha."

Amity stared Boscha in the face, silently daring her to forfeit.

Instead, her confident stance returned to her easily as snapping your fingers. "Fine, then," she sighed, tossing her mask away. "Let's see if you bleed in monochrome."

With that, Boscha lunged.

It became harder and harder to keep up with her, even as Amity let instinct take over. Alador's voice surfaced in her mind as she fought fiercer with every step, telling her to dodge, to parry, to strike, to turn, to do everything in her power to get that hit—