Nova's Blade

Chapter 18

Nova strides into the training room at the break of dawn, the weight of her resolve echoing in her steady footsteps. She spots Alistair hunched over a console, his back turned to her. She approaches him, her gaze fixed on his broad silhouette.

"I'm ready," she asserts, her voice steady and resolute.

Alistair turns to face her, his eyes scanning her for a moment before he says, "We'll see."

His fingers dance over the console, summoning a holographic display of Morgana. "First, you need to analyze her," he instructs, pointing at the flickering image. "She is an outlier from other opponents, see."

The hologram morphs, replaying Morgana's last fight. In the battle, Morgana wields a plasma whip that extends across the ring. The whip, more of an extension of her malice than a weapon, lashes out in her control, reaching her opponent no matter how far they try to evade. Its unpredictability, coupled with Morgana's relentless attacks, gives her a combative edge.

Morgana's fighting style mirrors her devious and sadistic nature. Each crack of the whip is calculated, the gruesome lacerations it leaves behind a testament to her precise control. She toys with her opponent, relishing the fear etched in their eyes as they try to evade the whip's deadly reach.

The fight reaches a harrowing climax, the plasma whip coiling around her opponent, a woman with wide, pleading eyes. The whip, humming with a lethal energy, constricts around her neck, its heat creating an eerie glow against her sweat-slicked skin. The plasma energy chokes her while also burning through her flesh. Each gasp for breath more desperate than the last, her hands clawing at the luminous tether in a futile attempt to free herself as her blood leaks out the cut on her throat.

And then, in a blink of an eye, the whip contracts, slicing through her throat completely with terrifying precision. A spray of crimson arcs through the air, each droplet shimmering under the artificial light. The woman's eyes widen in shocked disbelief, her hands dropping to her sides, her life seeping away in a gory cascade.

Throughout the spectacle, Morgana watches with a sadistic glee, the corners of her lips curling up into a grotesque smile. Her eyes gleam with the thrill of the kill, her laughter echoing through the holographic simulation.

As the hologram flickers out, the room plunges into a tense silence. Nova's heart pounds in her chest, the gruesome display burned into her retinas. She swallows hard, the taste of fear bitter in her mouth. She realizes, with a cold certainty, that Morgana is not an opponent to be underestimated. The specter of Morgana's sadistic laughter lingers in her mind, a chilling reminder of the stakes at play.

"She may be the only one who actually enjoys this violence," Alistair says his voice reverberating through the room. "Let's begin."

At Alistair's command, the training room undergoes a startling metamorphosis. The once flat, unassuming floor shudders and ripples, rising and forming into a maze of pulsating energy ropes. These ropes dart and sway unpredictably, their erratic movements mirroring Morgana's lethal plasma whip, their luminescent glow casting eerie shadows throughout the room.

Nova steps into this hostile landscape, her heart hammering in her chest. At first, her movements are clumsy, her timing off. She stumbles over the shifting ground, the energy ropes catching her off guard, their abrupt changes in direction causing her to falter. Each mistake stings, but she grits her teeth, her resolve unfaltering.

With each new attempt, a transformation begins to take place. Nova's footwork becomes more precise, her steps adapting to the erratic rhythm of the energy ropes. Her reflexes sharpen, her movements turning fluid and instinctual as she anticipates the ropes' erratic swings.