Valkyrie Rising ✓

Chapter Seventeen

My hands shake as the fight before mine ends. I step onto the mat facing Persy. He cracks his knuckles then swings his arms back and forth, loosening his shoulders. The whistle blows and he charges me. My only thought is to duck; his swing goes over my head, and at the last second I think to jab his chest with my right fist, curled into the eye of the Asenzo. He coughs when my knuckle sinks between his ribcage, poking his diaphragm. I'm pretty sure it's a minor injury at best, but I'm proud of myself for getting a hit in.

I back away from him as he glares at me, left hand rubbing his sternum, right hand arched, ready for another hit. I block this one with my right arm; his fist connects just above the crook of my elbow, shooting pain down my forearm and causing my fingers to go numb. I bring my knee up into his solar plexus, pushing him back.

It takes a moment to shake out my arm, restoring feeling to my fingertips. His next blow connects with my left cheekbone. I see stars and fall to the mat. Blinking to clear my vision, I try to ignore the piercing headache that immediately responded to the punch.

I'm down for too long; Persy grabs my hair and pulls me up. I bite my lip to keep from crying out. He wraps an arm around my neck, trying to choke me out, or kill me, I don't know. In my head, I hear Briar urging me over and over not to tap out, and my instincts still tell me to obey.

But I can't breathe. I can't remember how to escape this hold. I claw at Persy's arm but its no use. Just before I'm about to give up, the edges of my vision blurring, I remember a very important pressure point.

I throw my right fist behind my back, aiming for Persy's genitals. I get close enough, hitting his inner thigh, which startles him into letting me go. I turn and kick, my foot catching his jaw. I'm dizzy, but I try not to lose my momentum now that I am the one on the offensive. I bring my foot around again, this time catching the inside of his knee. He drops to the mat.

I don't think, just tackle. He flips me over easily enough and pins me down with an arm across my collarbone. I grab onto his wrist and use it as leverage to hold my elbow against the side of his head, pushing his face away from me with all my strength.

It's getting harder and harder to breathe, and I can feel the muscles in my body spasm in protest, but I keep pressing, twisting Persy's neck. In a last ditch effort, I bring my left fist up and slam it into the base of his neck, just above the shoulder.

Persy cries out and the pressure on my collarbone releases. I'm so shocked I actually hit his medial nerve, it takes me a beat to react. I work my knees up and shove him back. Before he can push himself up with his one working hand, I scramble to my feet and shove the heel of my palm downward into the right side of his neck, striking the brachial plexus.

He slides over, his eyes stunned blank. Shark rushes to his side and throws out a hand before I can land a solid kick, just to be sure I've won. We watch Persy for a few beats, but he doesn't recover all his motor functions immediately, so Shark says, "You're done."

He grabs my left wrist and holds it up, turning me to the panel of leaders. I fight to regain normal breathing, clutching my right arm to my chest. With the breathing comes a rush of hysteria, and I'm afraid I will burst into tears in front of the Masters.

"Nice manipulation of pressure points, doll." Shark drops my arm.

I just nod and rush to the restrooms, certain the sobs will start any moment. Stress and fear and pain and relief and pride all combine and push against my brain; I'm about to explode, I'm sure of it. The moment the door swings shut a sob bursts out. I sit against the wall, weeping, expelling all my conflicting emotions.