Fight Scene

An Aggravating Villain

"Did you live in Iceland?" She asked, slowing her breathing and preparing to fight. Her blood pumped furiously and her head was pounding, but she had to stay calm. Ignore any pain and focus on the enemy. Stop the thoughts from racing through her mind. Untangle them like strings.
The man tilted his head slightly to the side but avoided eye contact, as he had since the start of their interaction.
Why? What's he thinking? No, stop. Notice, don't think if there's no clear answer.
With a sigh he strolled backwards away from Demille toward the burning streets, not bothering to look where he was stepping yet not showing any fear of falling. She rushed forward after him, not getting too close but just enough to be able to reach him if needed.
"I did." He responded, answering her question as he reached a long arm to the side and pulled a piece of burnt wood from the building's fence. Demille's eyes followed the piece as the man threw it to the side, like a bored kid. "Grew up there, actually." Sharp pain shot through Demille's leg, and she looked down to see that it was bleeding. A new wound opened up under her knee, painting a fresh red coat over the dried and drying blood already there.
How?
The man stopped, his back nearly touching the scalding building now behind him across the street, its insides still being scavenged by raging fires looking for things to destroy. Demille stopped as well, feet skidding slightly on the dry pavement.
"That was a neat trick" she said, deflecting from her pain. "What'd you do?" She plastered a smug smile onto her face, watching him more closely than before. He's a dirty fighter, for sure.
"You're not stupid. At least not that much." Hands flicked at his sides again, and she wondered if it wasn't an absentminded habit like she'd assumed. "Figure it out." He threw his left hand outward, as if reaching for something far away, but she wasn't about to fall for another diversion.
Demille leapt forward and swung out her leg, intending to kick him, but something smacked hard against the back of her head before she could make contact. Pain rippled through her skull as the man jumped out of the way. Demille's feet found the ground again and she lurched forward, thrown off balance, and smacked her side hard into the building. Her left arm lit up with pain as the metal burned and melded with her skin, sticking her to the wall. Fireworks explode in her nerves and tears spring to her eyes. She managed to bite down on a scream and tried tugging her arm away, thrashing with her whole body.
"You've got a nice complexion." the man said, nonchalantly watching her struggle. "Are you of Spanish descent, perhaps?" He flicked his hand- one outwards this time, rather than both at his sides- and a force cut through the melted skin and released her arm. She stumbled backwards, nearly falling.
"Good guess," Demille spat through gritted teeth. She couldn't show how much damage she had taken, but couldn't help but cradle her arm. Luckily enough, the heat had sealed the wound almost immediately. "That's exactly right. Should I give you a prize?"
Demille steadied her breathing and focused on her bloodflow, activating her ability. The blood still dripping down her leg started to harden, and with her command it gathered and flew straight off of her skin towards the man's eyes. Screw with his vision, then attack. She moved just a pace behind, pulling back her fist in preparation to sock him in the jaw. Lessons from numerous teachers flashed through her mind, reminding her to Move fast. Steady her form. Twist her hip. Keep her eyes open. Don't push with just her arm but with her whole body for a deep shot. Don't let him suspect a thing.