Fighting with no powers

That's up to you," I said, ducking my head a bit. I needed to look smaller. Less dangerous. Talking was making me run out of breath, the thin air working its effect on me. But talking was better than the alternative. "Power nullification?"


"Everything nullification. No powers, no outside help. You, me, and the arena."


I wanted to pace, to encourage him to do it too, to maintain an even distance between us. It didn't happen. That kind of pressure and maneuvering required a roughly equivalent power. I had to be something more than a twenty-one year old woman, unarmed, against a man five inches taller than me who was armed with an axe.

***

He took one swing as he backed up a step, in a way I would have called casual or lazy if it hadn't been fast. No aim in mind, timing didn't matter, it just forced me to get clear and get away. Keeping the distance between us while the gas accumulated. It bought him the time to get the breathing apparatus on. His thumb flicked something beneath the neckwarmer, and then he tucked it beneath his body armor.


I would have done something about the canister, but we were inside a confined space.


His weapon required reach. It had been the case with Uncle Neil when I'd been twelve, when he'd been grown, strong, and capable of keeping me at arm's length.


My goal was to get inside that reach. I started forward, saw him react, ready to chop at me from the side. I found good footing, and lunged for real this time, a second after the fact.


He swung from the side, aiming for my midsection, and I dove, going low.


His foot came out, stopping me as I skidded on the surface that made footing so difficult. He shifted to a two-handed, overhead swing- and I went after his legs, tangling mine with his.


He'd expected that much, and shifted his footing, but he hadn't watched his own footing as much as he'd watched me and mine. There was just enough slip for me to get one foot to skid a short distance, to topple him.


I wasn't willing to wait for him to get his bearings. I used the spikes on the back of my glove like an ice climber might use an ice pick to get leverage while on a tough climb. Burying them into his leg, possibly getting more armor and padding than I got leg, I was able to spin myself around, so my feet were pointed closer to his face. I'd hoped to get a boot to his jaw, but he twisted away, his back flat on the ground.

He still had the axe. He still had it in roughly an overhead position, and with his back flat on the ground, he was in a position to swing. He brought it down and at me, and I brought my foot out, kicking at the hands, before the axe could come down.


It broke his grip and interrupted the swing before it could reach peak momentum. It didn't disarm him, though, which meant I didn't have time.

***

He shifted, and he got one knee or one foot between myself and him. I could feel the flex, and I knew he was going to kick me off him. I couldn't afford to let him. I brought my hands down and hooked the spikes into the sides of his neck, closer to the spine than the front. The action and my center of gravity brought my face close to his. Blood dripped down from my scalp wound onto the white mask.


Each of his hands found my forearms, and struck my arms out and away from his neck. I might have nicked him, but I didn't take much flesh with the motion. My center of gravity being what it was, with me on top of him, my face smashed into his. The scalp wound shed blood straight into his eye.


His footing against my midsection shifted, one closer to my chest, and he kicked out, leveraging me away.


I hit road, and cold wind blew past me. I took in half a lungful of air, and the air burned my nostrils, mouth, and throat.

- Polarize 10.13