Whew! Finally done with this chapter. Again, thanks for the reviews. You have no idea how much I love them. It scares me, sometimes.
In the raging wind, control of confusion
The spirit that controls this right arm
Remaining tranquil, seeing through everything
But my chest is hot! Hot!
The pulse runs
- Hurricane(Shippu), Takayama Minami
Chapter 7: Thunder Is Raging
An unceasing series of rapid-fire thuds sounded throughout the room, along with short pants of controlled breathing. Irene focused on the black target in front of her, delivering short turning kicks with swift precision. 58-59-60! A shout burst from her lips as she switched her kicking foot, feet sweeping lightning-fast past each other to their new positions, before starting yet another 60-rep drill on the target. She did not let her pace slacken, did not let her rhythm falter; she never let herself go easy. The lactic acid burned in her muscles, especially so in her legs. 60! Irene let her foot sail right through the target, sending it flying off the matted part of the floor onto the wooden tiles. All the while keeping her weight on the balls of her feet, she turned towards her man-like dummy. Out of pure indulgence, Irene strode towards it and, placing a foot on the faux-man's chest as leverage, she pushed off and vaulted into the air, flipping once before landing on the mat again. Then she rushed at the dummy, launching a few showy kicks before ending the day's training.
It was Monday afternoon, and Irene was at home in her personal training space as there were no lessons or training for the day. Their coach had decided to let them have one more day of rest before picking it up on Tuesday. Only four more days of training before the big day. Irene could not wait. Sometimes the athlete couldn't recall how it felt like being able to sit on the sofa or lie on the bed without her muscles feeling fatigued or aching. Smiling to herself, and still bouncing on the balls of her feet, Irene gave the dummy one more kick before proceeding into her cool-down stretches. She stretched her arms above her head, relieving the tension in her back, and turned around to find her mother leaning on the doorframe, eyes fixated on her.
'Nice backflip.'
'Thanks.'
'Are you done? I need to try out some new compositions.' Valencia held up the score sheets in her hand. 'And I think I'll concentrate better without you hammering away at your targets behind me.'
'Yeah, I'm done.' Irene gestured with her hand towards the music area of the hobby room, bowing slightly as though she were a butler. 'Please, feel free.' The daughter then slid smoothly into a split, her heels on the floor and toes pointing up. Leaving her legs in the same position, Irene pushed herself forward, arms stretched in front. She enjoyed the feeling of her muscles being stretched. It had been painful for her at first, when she was training herself to do full splits. But as she got used to it, she found that the sensation was rather comfortable. Irene smiled to herself again and pushed herself up, catching sight of her mother still staring at her.
'What?'
Valencia cocked her head, lips quirked. 'Call me strange, but I always find the sight of people doing splits quite…' She waved a hand in the air, as though it helped to express her thoughts. 'I don't know… weird?'
'Weird?' Irene let out a small chuckle. 'Just because you can't do it.'
'Because it looks like an unnatural position,' Valencia defended herself. 'What was the person who invented splits thinking?'
'We do it for flexibility, mom.'
'I know, but still.' The older woman walked over to her piano and placed the sheets on it. 'Splaying out your legs like that.' She shrugged. 'Oh, whatever. It's just me, I suppose.'
Irene let out a snort. 'If you think laying them flat on the floor is "weird", you should take a look at Teresa. She can do a split on the floor, with a small stack of books under one foot. Like a larger-than-180 degree split.' The first time she saw the black-haired gymnast do it, Irene almost freaked out. It looked like Teresa had dislocated her leg.
'That's… that's… disgusting.' Valencia's expression morphed into one of disbelief. 'Who in the world would want to do that? Won't they hurt themselves?'
Irene shrugged, standing up slowly. 'If they do it carefully, then they won't.' She remembered something Teresa had told her, and a twisted smile spread across her lips, knowing it would send her mother reeling. Well, not really reeling, but elicit some sort of reaction. 'Teresa had a gym friend in high school who tore her hymen because she landed into a split too hard.'
'What?' Valencia's gaze, Irene noticed, slipped down her body and then up to her eyes again very quickly. 'Ew. Stop your stories, please.' The older woman sat down at the piano, flipping through her score sheets. 'Actually, that's quite funny. At least she lost her physical virginity to something she loves.'
'Hah!' A short laugh from the younger. 'Since you put it that way…' She walked over to the piano next to her mother, hand reaching out for the score sheets, only to have it swatted away.
'Don't touch them, especially not with your sweaty hands. And go take a bath.' Valencia pushed her daughter further away from her. 'You stink.'
'I don't stink. I'm a girl.'
'Girls stink too, don't try to play dumb. Now go. I can't concentrate.'
Irene shrugged at her mother's back. 'Fine.'
Valencia did not reply, her fingers already pressing the piano keys, playing her new creations experimentally.
Irene picked up the target that flew from the mat and placed it back into its holder. Then she picked up her towel and water bottle and made for her room. Swallowing the last few drops of liquid from the bottle, she tossed it lightly onto her study table and turned her desktop computer on so that it would be ready for her when she finished.
Sure enough, as always, it was booted up and waiting for its master when she returned from a comfortable twenty minutes soaked in warm fragrant water. Irene clicked on the "sign in" button for Live Messenger and toweled her hair dry as she waited the process to finish. The moment she was logged in, the Taekwondo club's vice-president started a conversation.
Leo: Hey, you have to look at this, man.
He added a Youtube link.
Leo: Damn Westville. They're sore losers.
Irene: Hold up. Let me at least take a look at it first, ok?
Clicking on the link led her to a video, which was the recording of their club's public demonstration. Nothing wrong with that. Irene then scrolled down to the comments, and found the source of Leo's frustration. The comments, oh, the comments. A skirmish was being fought through those angry and… unflattering words. Irene followed the thread, and found a fair share of insults directed at her, which were retaliated with equally creative comments which Irene suspected came from a few members of the Claymore club. She had an inkling as to who the haters were: Westville, last year's overall first runner-up. Frowning as she read through the rabble, Irene did not know whether to laugh or get angry.
"This means nothing. That white haired witch won by dumb luck. She is nothing but a disgrace to the martial art."
"Agreed. She only knows how to dance around the arena. Stand and take your share of kicks, coward. Their vice-president is no better. A bunch of losers."
"Hey, I bet they're fucking each other. Haha!"
"Shut up, idiots. The results are enough to show who's the best."
"The best? Yeah, they're the best. At making great big fools out of themselves, that's what!"
"The irony. Who's making a fool of themselves now?"
"Fuck you buttmunch. Let's see who'll win this year's competition. It'll be Westville, that's who. Losers."
And the debacle degenerated into pointless and angry cursing. Irene gave up following the comment thread, and closed the tab. She brought up her conversation window with Leo.
Irene: They don't know I like girls? They thinking we're sleeping with each other. Ha.
Leo: They called me a gigolo, damn it! And they called you a... an… oral sex extraordinaire.
The silver-haired woman couldn't help but let out a laugh. Leo sure could over-euphemise when he wants to.
Irene: Who cares? We'll just show them who's the extraordinaire and disgrace on Saturday.
Leo: How do you take this shit, Irene? How the hell do you take it?
Irene: I don't. I'm just gonna throw it back at them on Sat.
Leo: … I admire you.
Irene: Thank you. Anyway, tell the others to stop fighting, if they are. It's useless.
Leo: Yes boss.
Irene minimized the conversation window and went onto Facebook, wondering if their club's private group had caught onto the comment war. Sure enough, the video was the topmost post on the wall, with over 40 comments. One of the last few comments was from their coach, telling them to leave it and just concentrate on training themselves. Irene just switched back to her own profile page, not bothering to push herself into the fray. The hate was useless, even though it had escalated notably from the mutual leering at the stadium the year before. Just let our achievements speak for themselves, Irene thought to herself as she scrolled down her wall. Nothing much. Then she noticed something new in her friends list. Flora Chevalier. Irene had sent the friend request in the morning, after much hesitation and staring at the screen, her finger hovering uncertainly over the mouse button. She did not send friend requests, mostly. But this one was special, right? What did the blonde think when she saw the request? Did it matter now that she has already accepted it? And why am I getting more troubled than it was worth over this? The athlete shook her head lightly, chiding herself silently for not thinking straight. Or rather, thinking too much. She had been doing a lot of that recently. Irene clicked on Flora's name and got directed to her wall. It had notably more activity than Irene's, which was a given since Irene only went onto Facebook when she really needed to, like when she needed to give information and notices to the club through the group page. Other than that, the 21-year-old usually just left it alone.
She scrolled through the posts on Flora's wall, reading a few of her French friends' questions of "when are you coming back to France?" or "are you going to visit us some time?" but she soon got tired of it and went to the photos. An unconscious smile spread across her face when a few photos of Flora and Bill greeted her. The canine seemed to be smiling along with his owner at the camera. There were quite a lot of photos of the blonde and the runner, Miria, even some of them in identical high school uniforms. There were quite a few pictures of Flora in her high school prom, and Irene paused there for just a little awhile, as she would like to tell herself after that. Only a smattering of photos during her graduation day, followed by the rest of the photos she had taken in high school, quite a lot of them taken with the music club. Irene looked for pictures of her in France, but could not find any except for the sparse few rounding up the whole photo collection, ones of the blonde posing with her friends at quite a few locations like the Eiffel Tower and the Palace of Versailles. None of her with her family, Irene noted, with a twinge in her chest. But did she really expect to find any? Especially after what the blonde had confided in her the day before?
'Irene, do you have any pencil lead?'
Valencia's voice came from her bedroom's doorway, where she had left the door open. Jumping slightly, Irene quickly closed the Facebook tab without even looking back at her mother, who was strolling into her room.
'I can't find my-,' the older woman paused, frowning slightly at her daughter, having noticed the jerk of her shoulders and the quick click of the mouse. 'What were you doing?' She asked suspiciously.
'Nothing. You just startled me, that's all.' Irene kept her voice level, trying to ride over the mini adrenaline rush.
The musician raised an eyebrow, but decided not to pursue the matter. 'So? Do you have any lead?'
'Yeah, here.' Irene stretched out to take her pencil case, quickly extracting the small cylinder of graphite and handing it over to her mother, who just as swiftly took one and returned the rest to her daughter.
'Thanks.' Valencia said, stepping out of the room, where she paused again. 'By the way, I don't mind if you watch porn. Just keep it down and don't let me know, especially if you're-,'
'I was not watching porn!' Irene hissed indignantly, feeling scandalized. 'I don't watch it!'
'So you say.'
'Mom!'
Valencia burst out laughing, with Irene sitting in her chair cursing silently to herself.
-Wind Flower-
Irene sat in her chair in the corridor leading out into the stadium, waiting for her match to start. Even though she had her headphones on, the crowd's periodical cheering still managed to filter in to reach her ear drums. It always managed to make her heart speed up a little, but then she concentrated on her mother's voice and managed to calm herself down more, although her heart was still beating faster than usual due to anticipation. Sonya had been the one to introduce this method of soothing her nerves before a match. When Irene had just started her sparring career, her nerves were one of her biggest problems as she did not have much experience yet. So the teacher told her to make a music playlist of songs that she liked or could help her keep calm, and plug in while waiting for her match to start. At first Irene did not know which songs to choose. Her initial playlist consisted of pop songs she liked, but they only managed to keep her heart rate up. Rock songs, her preferred genre of music, had only a little more effect. Then she tried out instrumental classical music, including those composed by her mother, but it had no effect after the first ten or so minutes. Her answer came when Valencia finally released her own solo music album, in which she actually sang, after much persuasion from her company. Irene had gotten the album for free from her mother, and the athlete decided to try listening to that album during the wait before her matches. For some reason unknown to her, it worked. Valencia's voice singing romantic ballads managed to take her mind off her uncertainties and stop her limbs from feeling weak. This had eventually become a routine for Irene, who kept to it even now, when she was certain of her own abilities and had quite a lot of experience under her belt. But she did not let her mother know about this, yet.
Irene felt patting on her shoulder and opened her closed eyes to look at her coach.
'They just left.' Coach Eric said, pointing at the empty space that used to be occupied by the competitors of the match before hers. 'Get ready.'
Irene nodded acknowledgement, then closed her eyes again to finish listening to Valencia's song. When the notes have faded, she took off her headphones and stopped the music on her iPhone. Then she opened the messages. There were various messages of "good luck" and "all the best" from her friends, and she read through them again. One of the messages, which had arrived in the morning before they even stepped into the stadium, got most of her attention. She had been reading it over and over again ever since she received it.
Flora – Hi, all the best for your matches today! I won't say "good luck" coz I don't think you'll even need it. Haha. I'll be there with Miria and the rest. So… hope to watch you receiving your gold medal. No pressure. :)
Irene smiled to herself once more and locked her phone, handing it over to her coach for safe-keeping. Taking slow and deep breaths, she promised to give her all. To win the gold medal. She closed her eyes again, taking care not to show her emotions to her opponent, who was sitting close by with her coach. Other than her speed, Irene was also known for her impassive expression that told her opponents nothing. Her cold, calculating eyes were often described as "disquieting". It was important to keep one's composure in the arena, and it was equally essential off-stage. Show nervousness, and your opponent will pick up on your uncertainty and hammer away at your weakness.
A rousing cheer from a part of the spectator's stands brought Irene out of her quiet meditation. The men's semi-finals were finally over. This was the second semi-final match, with Leo winning the first, meaning that he'll be one of the two to enter the finals. Irene's upcoming match was the first of the two women's semi-finals. She was up against Lexington's champion. The second match was between the best from Westville and Hansen. Part of Irene wished that Hansen's Alexa would win. She was sincere, unassuming, and most importantly, put on no airs. So unlike Westville's Celestine. Alexa deserved much more recognition than what she had now.
'Women's semi-finals, match 1! Irene Lancett, Claymore University, and Olivia Hart, Lexington University.' The personnel called, gesturing for the competitors to stand in place. 'Irene,' he looked at the silver-haired athlete for confirmation. 'Please stand here, and Olivia, here. Thank you.'
Irene turned and extended a hand towards Olivia, who looked a little taken aback, but immediately grasped the proffered hand and shook it.
'All the best.' Irene gave a small smile, which was returned wholeheartedly.
'Thanks. You too.'
The moment their hands broke apart, the next match was announced, a cue for them to start walking out. The personnel ushered them out, almost like a mother hen.
'Women's semi-finals, match 1. Irene Lancett, from Claymore University.' A roar came from the Claymore supporters in the stand. 'And Olivia Hart, from Lexington University.' A similar greeting from the Lexington side.
When she reached her side of the matted arena, Irene popped on her mouth guard and looked at her coach, who clasped both her shoulders.
'Do your best.' He smiled. 'Like you've always done.'
With her mouth guards hindering her ability to speak, Irene just gave a nod and slipped on her head guard. She hopped a few times on the balls of her feet, casting a glance back at the Claymore stand, which was right behind her. The action triggered a chorus of encouragement that she acknowledged with a raised fist. She caught sight of her mother, who was grinning, ready to witness her daughter kick butt yet again. Then Irene's eyes landed on Flora, who was also looking right back at her. For a moment, in that connection, Irene forgot where she was. But then she was promptly brought back by her coach, who patted her again and gestured towards the arena, where Olivia was already walking to the centre. Without a backward glance, Irene approached the middle of the mat as well, clearing her mind of any other distractions.
The two fighters faced each other, eyes quickly scanning the other, sizing her opponent up. The referee asked if both were ready, and received curt nods as affirmation. Then he gave the Korean commands.
'Cha-ryeot!'
They brought their legs together, arms by their sides, back straight at attention.
'Gyeong-rye!'
The two bowed, eyes lowered respectfully.
'Jwoon-bi!'
Shouts from the women, as they shifted into combat stance, at ready. The referee placed his arm between the pair.
'Shi-jak!'
The referee swung his hand up, a clear signal that the match had started. Olivia started small hops, keeping herself on the balls of her feet, muscles ready to react the moment her opponent attacked. Irene, on the other hand, made no movement at all. She just stood still, willing her muscles to relax while watching for any twitch of her opponent's body. For a few seconds, the fighters just circled around each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. Then Olivia began, closing in quickly, leg flinging out to aim a kick at Irene's side. The silver-haired fighter dodged it and swung a retaliatory kick to take advantage of her opponent's second of vulnerability. It connected, and the first point went to Irene Lancett. The back of her mind registered a loud cheer from the stands, even as she started towards Olivia, starting a flurry of attacks that was returned in earnest. Irene controlled herself, keeping her speed moderate. She took the time to build a quick mental profile of her opponent, taking note of her dominant leg, her favourite attacks and movements, as well as any habits, if there were any.
Olivia, still bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, slid forward and Irene instinctively backed off, keeping the distance between them. Then Olivia rushed at her, her legs delivering kick after kick at Irene's abdomen, and occasionally her head. Irene dodged, but lost track of where the kicks were coming from and immediately suffered a hard kick at her solar plexus from Olivia's instep. The silver-haired fighter recoiled slightly, taking one step back to regain control of her senses, ducking her head to avoid a head hit.
'What are you doing, Irene!' She heard her coach's voice from the side of the arena. 'Stop defending and attack!' Eric's fierce tone snapped the student back to her senses.
Olivia swung another kick at Irene's side, but the woman side-stepped to prevent the attack from landing and promptly delivered a back thrust at her opponent's chest. It was now Olivia's turn to stagger backwards, but just as Irene wanted give a few follow-up attacks, a buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the first round which Irene had won. 2-1. The referee placed his arm between them, stopping the two from going at each other again. He gave the commands, directing both participants to bow to each other before going off for their short interval of rest. Irene stepped quickly down the small flight of steps to where her coach was standing, with a bottle of water in his outstretched hand. Irene took her helmet off and accepted the bottle, wrenching the cap off and gulping down water. She did not even bother to smooth back the stray strands of hair that escaped its ponytail.
'Irene, you were holding back.' Her coach said, handing her a towel after she was done with the water. 'Don't test her for too long. Attack. That's your forte. Do that, and there'll be no need for a third round, understood?'
The student, breathing deeply, nodded and placed her head guard back on. The scoreboard reset itself. Round 2, Lancett, I: 0, Hart, O: 0.
Coach Eric gave a hard pat on Irene's back as she stepped back into the arena again. The referee guided them through the customary bow, and started the match. He barely had time to back away when Irene hurtled forward, slamming the sole of her foot into Olivia's abdomen. Irene, noticing dimly the forceful exhale of air from Olivia's lips, did not give her time to think or react. The first surprise kick had already earned her two points. Irene landed two more kicks in Olivia's side, earning two more points. Just when Olivia regained her bearings, her knee coming up to try and throw back a retaliatory kick, the silver-haired athlete closed in. She swung her leg outwards in an arc, in a smooth crescent kick which struck the side of Olivia's head, hard. Her opponent, propelled by the motion of the kick, fell to the side unconscious. This was part of what contributed to her nickname as the "Lightning". Lightning not only strikes fast. It destroys its victims. Just like how Irene's specialty, her head hits, knocked her opponents out cold. Lightning does not defend. It attacks, ruthless and efficient.
Irene stood back as was required of her, watching the medics and Lexington's coach rush up to check on the inanimate fighter. She took the time to catch her breath, pushing down her worry for her opponent. This happened very often in matches. It was something a professional practitioner had to live with and push through. Soon enough, Olivia's eyes opened. Her eyes were glazed over, but they were slowly coming back into focus. She muttered something and tried to stand, supported by her coach, but her legs were too unsteady and her weight fell onto her mentor. The coach and student had a short and terse conversation, before the teacher waved the referee over. The exchange went on for only awhile, then the referee went to deliver a message to the panel of judges. The judges nodded, and as the referee returned to the matted arena, the scoreboard changed. Winner: Lancett, I. Olivia had withdrawn from the match. The Claymore part of the stands roared.
Irene took off her head guard, approaching Lexington's coach and bowed. The gesture of respect was returned, and the coach extended a hand for a short handshake. Irene let go of the firm grasp and walked over to Olivia, who was sitting in her seat. Another handshake, then a firm hug. Olivia whispered in Irene's ear, 'If Celestine gets into the finals with you, do me a favour and kick her ass for me, won't you?' Irene grinned when they broke apart.
'Sure. I dislike her too.'
'Good.' Olivia rose slowly to her feet, making sure to keep her balance. 'Congratulations.' She smiled, before turning to walk away with her coach holding onto her arm.
Irene ran back to her coach, who was grinning. He threw her a towel, which she used to wipe her face. Then she looked up at the Claymore students sitting in the stands and gave a thumbs up, which was returned with another cheer. Eric placed his hand on Irene's shoulder as they walked back into the corridor to pick up another bottle of water for the athlete.
'Now, you only have one more match to worry about. I have two.' He smiled.
-Wind Flower-
Irene made a small pump with her fist; her elation at Leo landing yet another kick at his opponent was much quieter and definitely more dignified than the yells and screams of "YES!" from the Claymore spectators around her. It was Leo's third round in the finals, and he was now tied with his opponent at seven points. Tension was high, and Irene could see both participants becoming slightly panicky as they flung more and wilder kicks at each other. Irene's heart almost stopped when Westville's male champion's kick missed Leo by a fraction of an inch, and her comrade pushed forward to "clutch" his opponent, his chest pressed against the other's, their arms extended straight to show they were not grabbing each other. This was a common tactic used by the fighters to prevent an attack being landed on them. Due to Sonya's belief that this was a bad habit, Irene had been trained not to use it. But the same cannot be said for Leo, who had picked it up and used it sparingly in situations when he needed it.
The referee broke the two apart before commencing the match again, but the buzzer went off. The match was over, with the two tied at 7-7. This meant a sudden death match, where the fighter who landed the first blow would be the victor. Irene could almost feel the tensions between the Westville and Claymore side of the stands clashing against each other. The two universities had a long-running and unpleasant rivalry, and it showed no sign of letting up any time soon. The two parties leered at each other when they passed, even though it was toned down whenever an official or coach was around. This fight for the title of male champion was equivalent for a battle of honour for the two clubs, and Irene knew it would be the same for the female's finals. Silently, Irene hoped Leo could fight past the tension and pressure and concentrate on striking first. His strength was in his, well, strength and stamina. His reflexes were almost on par with Irene's, although in sheer speed he lost out by a lot. Her heart racing for her friend, she kept her eyes on the arena as the competitors got ready for the sudden-death.
'Shi-jak!'
Irene stopped breathing when she saw Westville's champion fling his leg out first. No. No, no! Leo, what the fu-, then her thoughts went blank when a spinning back thrust to the head sent the fighter flying backwards unconscious. W-what? Irene's mind struggled to come up to speed, tried to process what happened even as the spectators around her burst out in loud approval. Leo had dodged the first strike. Then he spun and delivered a high back thrust right into his opponent's face. Leo won. Leo won. The club's president finally sucked in a huge gulp of air and smiled widely in quiet jubilation, all the while trying to ignore a small twist in her gut. Leo had won his match. His match was over. Now it was time for the final match of the day, the female's finals. Irene's match.
Irene's heart quickened as she processed it. She was going to be up next. Her coach, after freeing himself from Leo's bear hug, turned to her and signaled that she should be going down now. Irene gave a curt nod in acknowledgement and rose from her seat, her heart hammering away at her ribs. She was about to walk away when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to find Valencia and Sonya. Her mother leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her daughter quickly.
'Do your best, dear. Kick that bitch's butt.' The woman patted Irene's head.
'What she said.' Sonya chipped in, and gave Irene a little push. 'Go on, you're up next.'
The silver-haired woman nodded, then made her way down the stairs, with various calls of "Go, Irene. Good luck!" from Teresa and the clique, as well as the rest of her club. Irene shifted her gaze up and found Flora again, who was also looking at her. The fighter smiled and received one in return, before reporting for her match. When she finally reached her coach, she found Westville's coach and Celestine Smith already ready. The two female competitors' eyes connected only for a moment, and the burning desire to kick each other's face into the ground was already communicated between them. Irene, who never liked Celestine from the beginning, disliked her even more after the semi-finals. The brunette had won the third round of her match against Hansen's Alexa Everett, thus clinching her position in the finals. But when the buzzer had sounded to signal the end of the round, Celestine continued to deliver a straight kick aimed at Alexa's face while the woman was relaxed, thinking that Celestine would not attack any more. The impact of her heel broke Alexa's nose, causing blood to immediately stream from the blonde's nostrils. Technically, attacking her opponent could disqualify Celestine from the competition, but she had pleaded her case, stating that she did not hear the buzzer and her kick was delivered merely on instinct, thinking that the match was still on. The judges had considered her argument and accepted it. At that moment, sitting in the stands and watching the match, Irene swore that she would return a similar blow to the woman. She would make her bleed.
Celestine smirked at Irene, but got nothing in return except an unwavering stare. The personnel broke their eye-war.
'Women's finals, Irene Lancett, Claymore University.' He gestured to the spot where Irene and her coach should stand, and they complied. 'Celestine Smith.' The Westville mentor and student got into position as well.
When their match was announced, the spectators cheered again as the competitors strode out to their designated positions. As luck would have it, Irene's seat was right in front the stands occupied by Claymore students, and Celestine was sitting in front of those from her university. Almost like a real war, with the general standing before his troops, Irene mused to herself as she fitted her mouth guards over her teeth. Once she had secured her head guard, making sure it was not loose, coach Eric patted the padded helmet.
'Last stretch. Go for it.' That was all he needed to say. His student had already proven her worth by going this far. He was confident in her abilities.
Irene nodded, hopping a few times to loosen herself up before making her way into the arena. Both competitors stood in front of the referee, as he led them through the customary bows. As they shifted into fighting stances, Irene let her mind fall into the zone, blocking out everything else other than her, Celestine, and the arena.
'Shi-jak!'
The silver-haired martial artist did not bother with her usual test-and-scrutinise routine. She did not want a repeat of what happened with Olivia, where she subconsciously shifted into only defending herself. Plus, she had fought Celestine over the title of champion the previous year as well, and she had observed her style during her fight with Alexa. Her preparation was already done before the match. What was left now was to attack, attack, and destroy. The Lightning dashed forward, landing the first blow, but it was blocked by Celestine's arm. Relentless, she rained blow after blow, refusing to give her opponent a chance to fight back, wanting to overpower her. Blows to her sides, chest, abdomen and head made Celestine backpedal swiftly away from the one-man army to the other side of the matted arena. Irene took advantage of the large distance her opponent had created and sneaked a glance at the scoreboard. 5-0. Three points from a glancing head blow, one from a kick to the side and one more from the attack to the abdomen. Forcing down a smile and the dangerous beginnings of conceit, Irene focused on her opponent again, who had recovered from the merciless onslaught. Celestine closed in a little, but kept a safe distance away from Irene. The silver-haired fighter reminded herself that Celestine was still a powerful contender, despite her weak start in the match. She had won many other trained participants to make it to the finals. She had ability. Grimly, Irene noted the Celestine had successfully blocked two of Irene's three head kicks. The blonde had trained herself to become less vulnerable to Irene's favoured high kicks.
Celestine started hopping on the balls of her feet just as Olivia had done, and ate up the distance between them, little by little. Irene just stared at her warily, her whole body attuned to the movements of her opponents body. Any hint of an attack, she would make the appropriate split-second response that was already ingrained into her instincts, into every fibre of her body. For a few long seconds, the two just circled each other, faking movements to elicit a response from the other, hoping to create an opening that could be dug into and clawed at. Then the referee stepped between them, pumping his fists together, his motion urging the competitors to fight.
Westville's female champion took the chance to rush at Irene, throwing a kick directed at Irene's head. Irene flung herself back, avoiding the swinging foot and the follow-up attacks. Then the mutual, instinctive exchange of kicks began. Kick, block, counter-attack. Kick, kick, dodge, and so on. They lost track of time, pushing their bodies through the exhaustion to play their role in this violent dance. Once, the two snapped their legs up for a kick at the exact same moment, but the close distance caused their knees to collide into each other. Irene took the chance to shift her legs backwards, ignoring the sharp pain in her kneecap, and gifted Celestine with a clean kick to her abdomen. The blonde, angered, shouted and charged at Irene, who met her head on.
How long has it been already? How can a two-minute round drag on forever? Irene thought at the back of her mind as she fended off blows. She peeked again at the scoreboard, and found that she was leading, 17-10. Not bad.
In that second, Celestine was upon her again. Irene, who was taken off-guard, immediately responded with her favourite kick, the kick that she always relied on. She jumped, spinning around to deliver a powerful back hook to Celestine's head. To her horror, it only made another glancing blow over the top of her opponent's head, the brunette having pushed her leg a little upwards with a block. The next second, Celestine's foot shot out, slamming solidly onto Irene's chest, pushing her backwards. Irene, with her centre of gravity off, landed awkwardly. Her left foot made contact with the floor in the wrong position.
A complication.
Dun-dun-dundunnnn!
I hope the fight scenes were not too technical and at least interesting. It gets really difficult writing fight scenes at times. *sigh*
Anyway, please leave a review. Don't worry about criticising, my skin is kinda tough. (I hope.) Ahem.
Well, if nothing crops up I'll have an update by next week. I'm getting my major exam's results on Friday and I'm scared. ='(
