Rachel finally had the fight she wanted, the chance to answer the question she had been asking herself for years now.

Could imaginary training actually be put to use?

She shadowboxed every day back on the farm, ducking and weaving around imaginary enemies, punching them in their imaginary crotch, dodging their imagery weapons. Her imaginary battles always went well.

But imaginary battles tended to go that way. It would take a very sad child to imagine themselves losing all their battles.

“You little bitch.”

The boy with the split lip pulled his arm back and lunged at her. The attack was well telegraphed, and Rachel swerved to the right. But her clothes were still weighted down with magical ruins, so her timing was off, getting her a blow to the shoulder. She stumbled back and grabbed the fence.

If she fell down, she doubted she would be able to get back up.

“Alright, let's do this then,” she said.

She tried channeling energy in her fingertips. She could feel the exhilarating sensation extending out through her arms. She tried to do the same with her toes, sending a current up her legs. She felt the weight subsiding somewhat.

The boy swung again, and Rachel managed to duck low, pushing him backwards. With her added weight, she was able to shove him halfway across the ring.

“Shit, what are you eating?” said the boy, spitting art on the ground.

Rachel pushed off the fence and sprinted at him with all her strength, dodging another slow and clumsy punch and connecting with his stomach. One, two, three consecutive punches.

She stumbled back.

She landed a fourth blow, right in the gut.

Then a fifth along the rib cage.

The boy slammed his fists down on her back, but she grabbed onto his shirt to avoid falling all the way to the ground. She was still standing, but she was stunned and vulnerable. He took his chance to grab her and throw her to the side, thrashing out with his legs as he did. His foot got a lucky hit and managed to connect with her stomach.

His fighting was both wild and painfully predictable, and his blows were surprisingly light for someone so large. He had yet to learn how to leverage his weight in a fight.

Even still, the weighted ruins were proving to be a major limitation. Rachel could not even move at half her normal speed.

“Come on, finish her off,” shouted one of the boys.

“Yea, what’s taking you?” shouted another.

“Oh, you know,” said the split lipped boy, forcing a grin. “Just toying with her.”

He immediately regretted saying this, as the girls glared at him, booing and hissing and telling him to leave Rachel alone. He grimaced. As much as toying with a defenseless girl would hurt his reputation,he knew the truth would do far worse damage.

He was actually having trouble. The few hits he took were deliberate and well placed. He was hurting.

“Shall we end this fucking thing?” he said.

“I don’t know, I thought I’d toy with you a bit first,” said Rachel, smirking.

The boy cracked his neck, standing slightly straighter now. He had been fighting the way one would fight against a child - sloppy and with little effort, showing off with big, flashy moves. But now he was thinking. His arms were up, his stance tighter, his breaths more even and measured.

“You grow up with a lot of brothers?” he asked.

“Yea,” said Racel, pouring more energy into her arms.

“Figured,” he said, darting forwards. “Me too.”

The next blow was far different than the others. There was no wide arc, no exaggerated wind up. This strike was quick and focused, slamming Rachel in the chin. She managed to lean back by sheer instinct, just fast enough to avoid a broken nose.

But she was stunned, and the next blow clipped her shoulder, then her stomach. The boy must have given her a matching split lip, because her mouth was now filling up with blood.

She tried to counter with a strike to the chin, but the boy moved back after landing his two blows, not looking to push his luck. This gave Rachel just a few seconds to rest and collect herself.

Her vision was blurred, full of sweat and little nagging lights, her head buzzing from the recent hit. For a moment she caught herself reaching for the cloth around her wrist, glowing with magic power.

If she could just lose the weight, then she could win this fight easily.

But she hesitated. She felt like winning that way would be the same as losing.

“Shit!”

The split lipped boy swung again, and Rachel swerved out of the way. This time it had nothing to do with her training. It was a reflective response. Sheer instinct. Rachel hated relying on her instincts, because she couldn’t take credit for them. But this time she was willing to let them hog a little of the glory.

Her body dodged for her yet again.

This gave her the chance to hit the boy in the face, right in the cheek. He swung again, and Rachel absorbed the blow with her right rib cage, delivering a simultaneous strike to his chest.

The boy backed off, his hands clasped to his knees, his legs quivering violently.

Rachel’s training was working even better than she could have expected. But what she couldn’t train for was the pain in her knuckles right now. She had tried sparring against the walls of the barn, but that still did not compare to the hardness of human bone. And nothing could prepare her for the sheer agony of being repeatedly hit.

“Fine,” said the boy, struggling to stand up straight now. “I admit it. You’re pretty good.”

“You're not bad yourself,” lied Rachel. The truth was that he was a sloppy fighter - strong and tenacious, but ultimately unskilled. She could have easily won if not for the size difference.

That, and the fact that was wearing magical weighted clothes given to her by a powerful vampire.

But she decided not to mention that.

“This will decide it,” said the boy. “Leave it all in the ring.”

“Agreed,” said Rachel.

Rachel felt the energy gathering in her palms once again, flooding out into her now numb arms. This was more energy that she had ever channeled before, and she could sense the hair along the back of her neck bristling, her sweat evaporating.

“Let’s finish this,” she thought to herself.

She surged forwards, as if carried by a strong wind, the boy’s forearm moving as if it was in slow motion. She slipped past and jabbed at his chin…

But the boy managed to hit her with his other arm, striking with so much force that she was briefly airborne, flying back against the fence.

The boy tried to finish her with a kick to the side of her face, but she lifted her arm just in time to dull the impact. She stumbled, willing her legs to stay straight. Then she wobbled. The boy saw his chance and tried to finish her off.

He brought his fist down on her shoulder. There was no window to escape or block, but she had just enough time to deliver a decisive jab to the face. She felt herself falling, then tasted dirt as the ground collided with her face. At exactly the same time, she felt the boy collapse as well, partially landing on top of her.

The entire crowd fell silent, as a few of the onlookers climbed over the fence and came closer, checking to make sure the fighters were unharmed (or at least, not more hurt than someone should be after an adrenaline fueled brawl).

Then the crowd let out a somewhat disappointed gasp, as the clear favorite - the larger and stronger of the two fighters, started to stir. Or at least, that’s how it appeared to be.

But then he slid off of Rachel, who was slowly rising to her feet, her legs bucking underneath her. Her face was drenched in sweat, her consciousness gradually fading. But she just barely managed to raise a wobbling fist in victory.

The crowd exploded into applause.