Chapter 11
The street was dimly lit, the hum of the city far in the background while the parking lot around them sat mostly silent, save for the hum of a vending machine and the flickering of a broken lamp overhead. Ash still had both grocery bags in his hands when the woman lunged forward with her katana.
Her movements were swift, cutting through the air with sharp precision as she closed the distance. She slashed from above, her blade slicing through the space where Ash's shoulder had been a heartbeat before. He ducked low, stepping sideways as she spun with a horizontal slash, the wind from her blade brushing his cheek.
She moved like a phantom—methodical, calculated, and deadly. Ash weaved through the slashes, bending backward as a thrust nearly pierced his throat, twisting to the left to avoid a downward cut that embedded into the pavement. He didn't activate his mana.
He didn't need to—not yet. His eyes flicked from her shoulders to her grip, reading her movements, sidestepping at the last second, slipping between the violent gaps of her assault.
Ash ducked under a wide diagonal swing, one that shattered a nearby car window when it missed. His foot pivoted on a soda can, nearly making him slip, but he caught himself with a side-roll. Just as he came up, she pivoted too, turning her missed slash into a rising kick.
The tip of her boot connected with his chest, right on the shell as he was lifted off the ground and sent flying back. His back slammed into a parked sedan with a sharp metallic crunch, the car alarm shrieking to life as his grocery bags flopped beside him. Eggs cracked, a bottle of milk rolled away, and he sighed deeply.
Pushing off the car, Ash exhaled again and carefully set the bags down with a slight shake of his head. Then, without a word, he activated his mana. A low hum rippled through the air around him as his body tensed. Power surged from his every cell and went rampant.
His strength expanded—he could feel the muscles in his legs tighten like loaded springs. His agility sharpened, as if time around him had slowed. Reflexes burst to life, each blink now registering dozens of tiny shifts. His endurance solidified his frame, grounding him, and his perception flared to life—he could hear the creak of her stance, feel the change in air pressure around her.
Ash's eyes glowed white, brilliant and unblinking. He blurred forward without a sound, catching the woman off guard mid-step. His palm struck her abdomen like a warhammer, lifting her off her feet and hurling her backward. She smashed into the side of a van with a loud metallic thud, the panel caving in from the force.
The vehicle rocked from the impact as she slid down to the ground, groaning softly, one arm gripping her side. She gritted her teeth, clearly rattled, adjusting her posture as her breath steadied, and her muscles tensed again. Ash just sighed.
The air between them vibrated with tension, the flickering streetlight above casting long shadows as they locked eyes. Shattered glass from the broken car window crunched beneath their feet. A crushed milk carton leaked across the pavement, mixing with rainwater pooled in shallow potholes.
Their clash was explosive. Her katana came in from the left in a high arc, aiming to cleave diagonally down his chest. Ash stepped into it instead of away, raising his arm, and the blade skidded off the dense shell plating his forearm, sparks flying. Before she could recover, he stepped in close, twisting at the waist to drive a low kick toward her shin.
She hopped back, narrowly avoiding it, and flipped her blade to stab forward. He weaved left, letting the tip brush against his side as he brought up his elbow in a tight arc toward her face. She leaned backward, spine curved like a bow, the elbow grazing the tip of her nose before she rotated and slashed horizontally.
Ash ducked low, knees bent, slipping under the blade as it whistled past. He twisted on the ball of his foot and surged forward with a sharp rising knee. She dropped her weight and slid on the rain-slick pavement, the knee missing her head by an inch. Her coat flared as she spun along the ground, kicking upward.
Ash blocked with his shin, the impact clapping through the alley like a drumbeat. He grabbed at her leg, but she rolled back, sprang to her feet, and slashed again—this time from a reverse grip. Ash tilted his head, the blade slicing through strands of his hair, before countering with a rapid series of palm strikes aimed at her torso.
She deflected the strikes with the back of her forearm, her katana catching and parrying one strike that would have broken a rib. The clang of metal echoed as the blade hit his shell again, harmless but loud. Ash stepped in with a feint, a jab that drew her guard, then pivoted into a spinning hook that she barely dodged by flipping backward over the hood of a car.
The car rocked beneath her landing. She crouched on its roof, blade raised, watching him carefully as he circled left. The wind rustled the plastic bag handles behind him. He exhaled, feet planted wide, waiting for her move.
She dove at him again, this time with a sharp forward thrust aimed at his gut. Ash sidestepped, trapping her wrist with one hand while the other aimed a short punch toward her shoulder. She twisted free, ducking under his arm and dragging the edge of her blade along the edge of his shell, leaving a bright scratch.
He spun with her motion, grabbing the edge of a parking sign beside him, and used it as leverage to flip himself over her next swing, his heel grazing her back mid-flip. She stumbled forward but caught herself in a crouch, breathing hard, eyes narrowed. The van beside them now bore two dents, one from her and one from his foot.
Both fighters were sweating now, their breaths heavy in the chilled night. Water dripped from Ash's hair, and her coat was speckled with droplets. The streetlight buzzed overhead, casting sharp lines of contrast over the scene, each shadow twitching with movement. They stood only meters apart again, bodies marked by the exchange, but neither looked ready to stop, in fact, ash was enjoying this a little to much if his crazy wide smile indicates anything.
Their forms shifted with tension, muscles coiled. Ash's fingers flexed as he studied her posture. She adjusted her grip on the katana, feet sliding across the pavement. Around them, the silent cars bore the scars of their battle—dents, slashes, broken glass—bearing witness to a duel balanced between power and precision.
Ash surged forward, water splashing beneath his feet as he sprinted low, weaving through the vehicles like a predator closing in. The woman met him head-on again, her katana gleaming under the streetlight. She slashed from above, the arc deadly and silent, but Ash stepped into the blade's path and blocked it with his forearm shell.
The clang rang through the air like a bell, louder than before. This time, he didn't retreat. He leaned forward, twisting his hips and launching a short elbow into her ribcage. She grunted, stumbling, the sound of her boots skidding against broken pavement sharp and quick. The hood of a nearby car dented inward as she crashed against it, but she flipped over, landing gracefully on her feet.
Before she could strike again, Ash was already there. He unleashed a barrage—his fists moving in tight circles, rapid and crushing. Each hit landed with thuds that echoed down the street. She blocked some, dodged others, but Ash pressed on, forcing her back. She lashed out with her katana, but he slipped sideways, trapping her wrist with one hand and driving his knee upward into her thigh.
The shock sent a shiver up her frame, making her stagger. He followed with a spinning backhand that slammed into her shoulder, knocking her to the ground. She rolled, bringing her blade up defensively, breathing hard, but Ash didn't pause. The air around him shimmered faintly, his mana still active, intensifying with each second.
She jumped up and went for a straight thrust, one aimed directly at his heart. It was fast and clean—calculated and meant to kill. Ash didn't dodge this time. His hand shot up and caught the blade mid-thrust, the sound of steel meeting shell ringing out. Sparks danced as his fingers clamped down tightly on the edge.
Her eyes widened, realization blooming too late. Mana surged through his arm—faint blue light cracking through his skin like lightning veins—and into the katana. The moment it made contact, the sword began to vibrate, then splinter. With a crack like thunder, the blade exploded into pieces, shards flying out in all directions.
She was thrown backward, landing hard on the hood of a van that crumpled under her weight. The metal screamed in protest, denting deep from the impact. She slid down the front, her body twitching from the sudden shock, breath caught in her throat.
The red interior of her coat flashed as she rolled off, limbs trembling, katana nothing but a broken hilt in her gloved hand. She coughed, tried to stand, but faltered. The fight had been knocked out of her, her body slumped beside the crushed van, rain pattering over her in silence.
Ash stood still, steam rising faintly from his forearm. He exhaled through his nose, slowly unclenching his hand as shards of the katana dropped to the ground with soft metallic clinks, as he sighed, "Ah, that was refreshing," he thought as he heard a couple of footsteps coming.
His eyes, turning around, Ash saw a couple of people, two of which he recognized as Colleen Wing, his mentor, and Danny Rand. But there were also people he somewhat saw on TV and heard rumors about. A tall man stood at the edge of the alley, his broad shoulders filling the space beneath a black hoodie. The fabric was riddled with bullet holes, frayed at the edges, yet he wore it without concern.