More fighting without powers

I drove my forehead into his face. The icon at the front and center of my hood slashed forehead and eye. He stumbled back, but I was on his heels.


He found his bearings, and instead of panicking, he began to respond. Blocks, a strike to my jaw, then a kick. The kick to my side hurt.


He knew my forcefield was something that 'broke', or he thought it was fragile.


He was bigger, stronger, and if I was a hundred percent honest, his hand to hand technique was better than mine on a general level. I was willing to press it regardless, trusting that one in every two hits that he landed wouldn't count, while I could make mine count just fine.


He created his circle, a flash, a flare, and I lost my power.


Which- well, of fucking course he did. Now I wasn't ignoring one in every two hits, and he had the baton.


I shifted to the defensive, looking for an opening. Punch after punch, and I kept my arms up, dealing with the fact they were still spasming. The cut on the bottom of my foot made footwork hard, and I couldn't use any degree of flight to ease my weight off of it.


I was too out of practice. The patrol training had been me instructing the newbies more than it had been me learning.

***

A bit of flight and the ability to take one baton swing without flinching or slowing down in the slightest bought me an opportunity.


My thumb slipped one of the rings from the base of my finger to the middle part. Each ring had spikes that swept back along the back of my hand, and by moving it to where I had, with my hand in a fist, the spike pointed forward.


I aimed for the throat, worry for Sveta burying the clear awareness of what I was trying to do. The spike punched into meat. I repeated the hit, flying close so my legs wrapped around his upper body, punching- catching the underside of his jaw, his face, mask, then helmet. He twisted to keep me from getting at the neck again.

- Heavens 12.2