Them's fighting words. I knew it, and the dumb lug bounded at me. As soon as his legs moved, I could see that he was woefully stale. Never any practice battling, and his skills were embarassing. He was complacent now, the most work-out he got on a regular basis being sex. Me? I lived my life on the run three times after I was hatched. I had the kinds of reflexes that came from a life the high-class trainers who owned him, Tabby and her mother before her, could never teach him. It helped that I kept myself regularly in shape, always practicing against local Pokemon and going for long runs. I had every edge in the fight except for type matching, but as he swung his fist at me, there was no chance to land the super effective move anyway.

I ducked the punch, swiping at his leg and bringing him to the ground for a brief second. A roll to the side helped me avoid his two joined fists, which in my absence slammed down on the carpet. I avoided several more strikes with my speed advantage, playing completely defensively until he slipped up. Problem was, he was rusty, not stupid. He anticipated my movements, and following my motions, working out my pattern, he ended up striking where I would be, and that's when I found out that for all his lack of stamina and speed practice, he hadn't grown any weaker. I found myself hitting the wall, losing my focus for a second as I hit the ground.

In that second, even his slow body could make it to me in the closed space of the room.  He was getting fired up, and I could hear the heat crackling until finally he was upon me, and it felt like I was kneeling in front of an open oven. He grabbed me by the neck and lifted me up, which was such a wrong move I rescinded the comment about him being stupid. My hind legs shot forward, delivering a well-placed strike to the chest as he dropped me and reeled back, clutching the red marks where my claws joined the kick. It gave me the precious time I needed to think on things as I rammed my side into him, forcing him to the ground.

My fight psychology was a lot different than me at any other time. My sarcasm faded immediately, and it was probably the only time short of sleep I actually shut up. I got intensely focused on the task at hand, and there was no time for movie references when you're getting your ass kicked. When all was said and done, definitely. But I had to earn that right.

Night Slash was an awful idea. Even if it was my usual move to end matters, it wouldn't work on a fighting type nearly well enough. Something Psychic would seal the deal, but Gardevoir was off on the sides, wishing to not get involved. A rather badass move where I dodged the attack and threw the force of my body from the dodge directly into his side bought me a little more time, when something started to well up inside me. I could feel energy, like Night Slash, but profoundly different. My tail and head sickle both glimmered with radiant white light as the energy brewed and swirled through my being. On instinct, I pushed forward, striking my head against his chest. The energy left me, blowing him back against the wall this time, a visible slash along his chest as his body sort of twitched a little before falling limp. I had no idea what I just did, but it apparently worked.