My Life as a Protector.

The Price of Power

As the dust settled from our clash, I took a moment to study my opponent more closely. 

Her name is Hale.

She was a young girl, close to my age, yet her presence radiated an unsettling power that belied her age. Her white hair fell, cascading like a waterfall of snow, framing a face that held an eerie stillness.

Most striking were her eyes—pale and hauntingly empty, as if they had absorbed all light but reflected none. They were like two frozen orbs, devoid of warmth or emotion. A thin stream of crimson trickled from her nose, a testament to her unearthly nature, staining her lips in deep red—a macabre accessory that only amplified the sinister aura she exuded. The girl wore a sleeveless sweater, its fabric tattered and worn, suggesting battles fought long before. Over it perched a beanie, slightly askew atop her head. I couldn't shake the feeling that beneath that innocent facade lay a heart hardened by pain and loss, much like my own.

But it was the way she moved—fluid and unrestrained—that truly unsettled me. Each step she took seemed deliberate yet effortless, as if she were gliding across the ground rather than walking upon it. It became clear to me as I observed her that her powers extended far beyond merely cooling down flames; they encompassed something darker, something far more profound.

In that moment of clarity, revelations began to unfold in my mind. I could sense the flow of energy around her, rippling with potential and manipulation—a mastery over the very essence of her physical form. My heart raced as realization hit me: she was a shapeshifter.

As we began to circle each other, I felt every muscle in my body tense with anticipation. The air thrummed with energy, thickening as our gazes locked—two predators sizing each other up before the inevitable clash.

"I won't die again... Not until I find someone dear to me," I declared, my voice steady despite the fear bubbling within.

For a moment, My opponent simply stared at me, those cold eyes studying my determination with an unsettling calmness. I could feel the weight of her gaze, dissecting my resolve like a surgeon preparing for surgery. Then, without warning, she lunged forward.

The speed was blinding—one moment she was a few feet away, and the next she was upon me, a blur of white and ice. Instinct kicked in as I barely managed to sidestep her attack, feeling the rush of cold air where she had just been.

I retaliated with a series of quick punches, trying to exploit the opening her missed attack had left. But Hale evaded them with ease, her form shifting and contorting in ways I couldn't fathom. It was like trying to hit smoke—the more I lashed out, the more she seemed to dance out of reach, her body twisting and changing too fast to track.

Frustration and fear clawed at my insides. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't land a hit on her—it was like I was fighting a ghost, a specter made of mist and shadow. The realization hit me: as a shapeshifter, she had no fixed form, no solid structure I could target. The very concept of "Hitting" her was rendered meaningless.

Unless I could catch her off guard... or even better.

As I finished my flurry of punches with a low spinning sweep kick, Hale instinctively jumped back, momentarily creating the space I needed. Seizing the opportunity, I stomped on the ground with all my might, sending plumes of smoke billowing around us. The air thickened with obscurity as visibility waned—perfect for my plan.

Within the swirling smoke, Hale's confusion became palpable. She strained to locate me, her posture tense as she scanned the haze for any sign of my movement. And that's when I acted.

With stealthy precision, I slipped behind her, closing the distance in silence. As I prepared a powerful body shot, her attention shifted just as I had hoped, muscles tightening in anticipation of the blow. But instead of following through with my punch, I quickly retracted my fist, using the natural recoil to pivot on my back foot.