In spite of his aggressive words about ‘ending’ things, Krel made no immediate move to do that. Instead, he stuck to a strange stalking advance that unnerved her. The fluidity of it was almost mesmerizing, and Len would’ve been a lot more impressed by it if the movements weren’t attached to someone who very likely was about to kill her. She didn’t like her odds if she let him keep taking the offensive beats, so she decided to see what this body of hers could really do.

She’d felt bits of its potential with each of her clashes with foes. It wasn’t something she was entirely accustomed to yet and it was a hard feeling to describe. Her body didn’t really feel like ‘hers’ in spite of all the memories. It was a bit too tall, a bit too broad in the shoulders, the center of gravity wasn’t quite right. And yes, there were the ears too, long and pointed like any good elf from a fantasy novel. It was distracting having them sticking out from her head, picking up sounds she’d have never noticed with her round human ones. Everything about her felt off, and it was holding her back.

If she couldn’t get that feeling under control, she was going to be in serious trouble here. She’d taken Vrek out thanks to a combination of his own overconfidence, her skill, and a healthy dose of luck that she had no reason to assume would play out in her favor again. Krel definitely had an abundance of confidence going for him too, but it was tempered by a cautiousness that Vrek had been incapable of. Krel could imagine a scenario where he’d lose this fight and was all the more dangerous because of it.

As much as she wanted to think things through further, she was out of time. He’d almost come to the range he’d been at when he’d launched his last assault, and she didn’t feel like getting rattled by another flurry of blows like that. Even more, there was something welling up inside of her that was getting harder to hold the reigns of. An exultation and lust for battle that demanded to be acknowledged. She’d fought plenty of matches in her day, but none that had the weight of this. They’d all been fairly standard tournament rules or sparring matches. There’d been personal glory at stake but that had never mattered all that much to her. It had always been about improving herself rather than beating her foe.

This? This fight could only end with her or Krel crushed utterly. That should’ve terrified her. Instead, it rushed over her, making her feel more alive than she could ever remember. These were stakes she could revel in, and she was going to be the one to walk out of this victorious.

Grinning fiercely, she lunged at him, the pain in her arm forgotten. This caught Krel off guard and he actually took a step back. Planting her feet, she put all the force she could into a strike at his midsection. The blow landed solidly, knocking him back further with his balance disrupted. Even as she tried to capitalize on the opening, though, he recovered, clasping his hands together and bringing them down in a crushing strike. She managed to slip to the side of the swing and rewarded him with a kick to his left leg, but only glancing off the side rather than getting the splintering that she’d hoped for.

He swung at her again, a wide strike that she moved to take advantage of, trying to tangle it up in her own arm. A second too late, she caught his smirk and saw that his left was closing in on her side. Desperately, she flung herself away from the blow. It wasn’t enough to avoid it entirely, but as she bounced off the granite several feet from him, she’d earned only bruises rather than broken ribs.

Krel didn’t stop to gloat, and just charged at her, reaching her before she’d regained her footing. His knee slammed into her midsection, forcing the air out of her and knocking her back to the ground again. Gasping for air, she tried to push herself up but was again forced down by his foot stomping on her back.

“You’re a problem for me, girl,” he mused as he held her in place. “I could just finish you off here, knock you out, claim my status as undisputed victor of this bout, and move on.”

He stomped on her again, definitely breaking a rib that time.

“But I’m really not sure that’s enough. You’ve insulted me more in a few minutes than most have ever done and lived to talk about it. But then there’s those odd moves of yours. You have a genuine talent that would be a shame to waste. That move you took Vrek down with was downright inspired.”

He ground his heel into the rib he’d just broken, forcing an scream of agony out of her.

“So what am I to do? Let you continue a little longer, or should I just make you beg for mercy now?”

She tried her best to glare up at him, but he was stomped on her face as soon as she turned to look at him.

“Don’t even think about it, girl. You’re already bested, you should just accept it.”

Something snapped inside her at that comment. He was so damn sure that this was over, that he was the one who got to decide that she had had enough. He was certain of it and wanted her to know it. The little voice in her head that had been rejoicing at the stakes was enraged by his arrogance, and rejected every bit of it.

“Really,” he asked, feeling her body tense. “If you’re not going to take your defeat with a little grace, I guess I’ll have to give you a more permanent reminder of this moment of your failure.”

He raised his foot up again and Len knew that this blow was meant to cripple her.