Paragon

⊰❉⊱ 78 ⊰❉⊱

"The crisis consists precisely in the fact that the old is dying and the new cannot be born; in this interregnum a great variety of morbid symptoms appear."
― Antonio Gramsci, Prison Notebooks 

It started in the depths of a wine cellar in Mayfair. What it became was a level of power I was exposed to rather than trained into.

Selena Helland's residence was one lying in plain, morbid sight. A grand old house maintained within an inch of its very long life... I had no doubt she had seen its construction back in whatever century that was. The pieces of armour alone were a marvel museums could only dream of. Some items that lingered in her halls would shame even my most prized collections in my vault–and I had not seen her own yet.

 We ascended to an improved rooftop from its traditional sense. One that held a flawless view out onto the rest of the west end while retaining its original roof and tile work. But she had expanded it into a flat stone layout that was watched by the priceless stone statues along its perimeter. 

"How very Roman of you..." I drawled, casting my eyes around the night landscape and the lit brasiers. 

"I'm not that old." She quipped, taking a familiar chrome packet from a stone table and tossing it at me.

I caught it on reflex and frowned.

"I don't need–"

"You will." She finished simply, "– But I won't."

I was wary of that confidence. It wasn't arrogance because it wasn't forced or rushed... it was earned. I swallowed, before tearing open the chrome packet and draining the rich lifeblood within. Power rushed me and I closed my eyes feeling the added strength I was still unfamiliar with. Selena watched me, then paced ahead into the open stone circle like a waiting gladiator.

She beckoned me with a finger.

I growled under my breath at the summons and rolled my shoulders and neck quickly before pacing forwards.

It was the last thing I did before she was behind me. I reacted on instinct and sent my arm wide behind me. She was already in front of me again–and did not hold back. The force of her blow at my chest took the wind from me and I felt pain for the first time since Cordius trained me. I heard the crack of my body before hitting the stone.

I hissed out a groan as I came to a stop near the doors we had entered the rooftop. Dark red briefly clawed at the edge of my vision until my body rapidly healed whatever she broke.

"Get up. That was pathetic." She said flatly.

I rolled onto the balls of my feet in a flash and flexed my fingers, storming towards her.

"Do not get angry–get even." She stated, watching my approach.

I tried to learn. Tried to gauge when she struck, track the pattern in her movements, the dilation in her eyes... But every time she attacked she used something new. She was impossible to read. The next huff of frustration and genuine pain I felt in my side began to grate and I understood why I needed the blood now. The darkness at the edges of my vision stayed this time and I would need more if I was going to continue on like this.

"You keep changing–the way you fight." I grit out, holding my ribs on the floor.

"Don't be naive, Fletcher."

"I'm trying!" I spat, taking in a ragged breath.

But this only drew a laugh from her lips in the firelight. She was before me in a flash and dropped into a crouch as I flinched from the movement. There it was again. A slight tilt in her back heel right before she crossed the space in a blink. I had just uncovered her first tell... now I just had to piss her off.