ʟᴏꜱᴛ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ || 𝟙

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 20

"Uh, Parker," she said, glancing towards the weapons that were still dangling precariously on the ceiling.

"Wait, you're going to go at it right now?" His eyes darted between them, nervous.  "Shouldn't we, I don't know, grab a snack or something, I'm kind of hungry," he complained, thinking about the newly installed vending machine that was in the hall. 

She shrugged. "Well, if you want someone to get impaled when a katana falls on top of their head." 

"Right, in hindsight, t- that was probably not the best place to put them," he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, before pulling them down.

She arched an eyebrow as he handed her the weapons that were in what could only be uncouthly described as a white, sticky, mess.

"Seriously, Parker?" she grumbled as Clint laughed.

"Here," he unsheathed his own sword , tossing it to her in a high arc which she caught, hilt first.

"You do realise that this is supremely unfair right?" she smirked, flicking a speck of invisible dust off the blade. 

"Really?" he asked, playing dumb.

"Yeah," her lips widened into a smile as her body buzzed with a new energy, the anticipation of a fight. "Old man."

"Okay then," Clint's eyes narrowed. "Pup." He whipped out an arrow, aiming and firing at her forehead in the span of 5 seconds.

Unblinking, she swung the blade upwards, intercepting its trajectory, watching the shaft slice satisfyingly in half in front of her eyes, arrowhead and fletching clattering at her feet.

Her ears perked, listening to arrow after arrow being nocked, ducking and weaving  as she reacted instinctively, blade a deadly flurry of accuracy as she sliced each one out of the sky, the ground quickly becoming littered with arrowheads.

And then her window emerged. He was running out of arrows, slowing down so as to conserve whatever remainder he had. 

"My turn." She whispered, taking advantage of her split second of respite, drawing the blade back as she ran at Clint, swinging it downwards in a cut that would have severed his kneecaps had he not somersaulted over her, bringing his quiver down.

Pain rocketed up her right shoulder as she quickly tossed the sword to her left palm, regaining composure.

"First blood!" Clint announced triumphantly, circling her like a lion about to finish off its kill.

"It only counts if you make me bleed," she spat, ignoring the pain in her shoulder which, thanks to the adrenaline pumping in her bloodstream, was fading into a barely noticeable ache.

Hurling herself at him, she jabbed, poked and swiped in a series of vicious moves, leaving no room for him to be distracted or think while she observed and analysed, his every footfall, the twitch in his muscles, the flicker in his eyes as he struggled to keep up. Unrelenting, he parried blow for blow with his bow, the satisfying scrape of the hollow carbon fibre against steel, each hit jolting her bones.

"Give it up, Clint," she taunted as her opponent exited the lethal dance, chest heaving.

Eyes narrowing, he whipped out a short, heavy dagger, flinging it at her chest, quickly blocked by the hilt of her sword.

But that 3 second distraction was all he needed.

Sprinting towards her, he swiped at her weaker left hand, knocking the katana free. Taking advantage of her shock, he quickly put her in a headlock, bow-string pressing against her throat, a make-shift garotte. She could feel the skin slowly beginning to give away as he applied increased pressure against her trachea. Swinging her head backwards, she could hear more than feel the crunch of cartilage against her scalp as the blow stunned him into momentarily releasing the bow, which she lifted over her head. Pressing the button hidden within the grip of the bow, it immediately transformed into a baton. Utilising its superior reach she made another swipe for his head, while simultaneously sweeping his legs out from underneath him. Pointing his own weapon inches from his face, ready to bash his head in, she pressed a foot against his chest as he attempted to stand up.