Ch 2.82: Split
<span style="font-weight:400">ina could hardly believe it, but she really was keeping track of Prisma’s moves. Even though they didn’t seem as unreadably fast though, Prisma was still tougher this time, unconcerned with her own modesty and focused on the swordy between them. They traded attacks and defense, a seemingly even bought to any outside observers.
<span style="font-weight:400">ina knew that wasn’t really true, though. Prisma was being cautious, showing more respect towards ina’s abilities, but she wasn’t in danger. It was all ina could hope for to stay in the match, barely having enough time to throw out a few half-hearted counters in the times when Prisma knew she was just about to press too far, the times when she was most ready for them.
<span style="font-weight:400">Except Prisma was <i><span style="font-weight:400">always </i><span style="font-weight:400">ready for them. She’d said ina had gotten one cheap point and one “real” point, but ina was pretty sure that wasn’t the case. Prisma hadn’t expected the second one because she’d still been underestimating ina, but that obviously wouldn’t happen again.
<span style="font-weight:400">ina really didn’t know how she did it. Prisma’s eyes were always forward, always locked on to ina’s even while ina’s were wildly dancing, chasing the swords, looking for her next opening. Anything ina did Prisma saw out of the corner of her eye, and her level of focus was so far ahead that it was enough to dominate the fight.
<span style="font-weight:400">But could ina turn that focus against her? She vaguely remembered a word of advice about fencing, words she hadn’t been interested in hearing at the time but that stuck with her nheless. “You’re too predictable,” she’d been told. With Prisma’s seemingly inhuman ability to focus on ina’s eyes, that would only be amplified.
<i><span style="font-weight:400">So, be less predictable. </i><span style="font-weight:400">That still probably wouldn’t be enough she knew, but it was a start. She couldn’t stare Prisma straight on and track the sword at the same time, so she’d need something else too, some other edge. But even just trying to keep her movements ambiguous was a task, one that easily left her on the backfoot, being pushed towards the edge of the stage. She was reminded of their first day fencing together, how dominant Prisma had been that she could ring ina out in merely seconds just by advancing. If ina kept up this pace, it’d be a repeat of that.
<span style="font-weight:400">But that wasn’t the only thing ina remembered about that day. There was one chance, a gamble for sure, one that Prisma might be ready for, might not be. It was also arguably a trick, a gimmick, but it wasn’t exactly one Prisma would be able toin about either.
<span style="font-weight:400">And so ina let herself get pushed back, mindful of the distance, careful not to go too far. But even knowing she was getting pushed towards the edge it happened so fast. She couldn’t exactly look behind her to check the stage length—might as well throw her sword down at that point—so she knew she had to act fast.
<i><span style="font-weight:400">Less predictable,</i><span style="font-weight:400"> she thought. Prisma was tracking her eye movements, predicting every strike she’d make. ina made a quick bat at Prisma’s sword, not enough to disarm her, but more forceful than a standard block. <i><span style="font-weight:400">Step one, done.</i><span style="font-weight:400"> Step two was simple, look someone she wasn’t going to strike, somewhere that could hold her eyesight well enough to not betray her true intentions. Prisma’s bare boobs? <i><span style="font-weight:400">Yeah, that’ll do.</i>
<span style="font-weight:400">Eyes distracted by that glorious sight, ina moved on to step three: falling. More specifically, falling with style. She let her legs spread apart, sliding into a split that she was <i><span style="font-weight:400">mostly</i><span style="font-weight:400"> certain she could do. She’d never been able to before, but her ss made her stronger, so why not more flexible?
<span style="font-weight:400">It worked, her falling to the ground as Prisma watched, dumbfounded as she swung another desperate swing. ina was ready for that, able to parry with ease thanks to Prisma’s rapidly sinking target. And that was all ina could do, really. Eyes still locked on to Prisma’s perfect chest, she swung her sword, and Prisma brought hers up to block.
<span style="font-weight:400">Prisma was left holding her sword in front of her nipples like it was a bad attempt to preserve her modesty as ina’s struck the girl’s knee.
<span style="font-weight:400">“Mirage, your winner: ina Weaver.” Shein said, as ina stood up to the roaring crowd. Prisma remained where she was, still staring at her sword.
<span style="font-weight:400">“You’re the better fencer; I just got lucky,” ina said as she covered up with her hands. It was true, she knew.
<span style="font-weight:400">“The better is the one who wins,” Prisma said, letting her body slump and handing the sword over to a bouncer that came to grab it.
<span style="font-weight:400">“Go find my friends,” ina said, pulling her own gaze away from Prisma. “They’ll keep you safe until they give you your clothes back at the end of the night.”
<span style="font-weight:400">“Right. The end of the night…” Prisma looked lost, wasn’t even covering herself up, just staring off into space.
<span style="font-weight:400">“Win for me?” she finally said, turning back to ina. “I don’t know why you want that crystal so bad, but I could tell you do.”
<span style="font-weight:400">For a moment, they were alone again, just the two of them. “I’m going to get it, one way or another.”
<span style="font-weight:400">“Good…”
<span style="font-weight:400">“Prisma! Over here!”
<span style="font-weight:400">The shouting shook both of them out of whatever state their minds were lost in as they turned to see Flora waving her hands off to the side of the crowd.
<span style="font-weight:400">“I’ll be going,” Prisma said, finally covering herself and hurrying off stage. “Good luck!”
<span style="font-weight:400">“Will number fifty pleasee up to the stage?” ina heard Shein say.
<span style="font-weight:400">“Number fifty?” ina asked.
<span style="font-weight:400">“The winner cards,” Shein said, taking the microphone away from her face and rubbing at her eyes. “They’re numbered up to fifty. Up to a hundred, actually, but there were only fifty winners.”
<span style="font-weight:400">“Fifty,” ina said, heart beginning to sink. <i><span style="font-weight:400">I have to fight fifty people to win.</i>