Mystwalker Week 2k15, prompt: (first) fight. Lol I had suchhhh struggles trying to figure out where this one was going.

humpty dumpty

Knightwalker continually had to remind herself that just because the King had royal blood within him didn't mean that he didn't have fight within him too.

"Hmph!" she exhaled out forcefully, swinging her "Magic" Spear back to her default handling position, its quadra-tipped head pointing downwards to the concrete floor of the training room. She was crouched back—her left hand poised in front of her, ready to fend off any attacks—and circled around her blue-haired opponent slowly.

"I forgot that you were often on the front lines in your other world," she sneered. "Seems like your little princely ass didn't always get to hide an army of shields."

His eyebrows furrowed and he gave her a short laugh. "I was an S-Class Mage in Earthland, thank you very much," he replied, eyes following her snake-like movement around him.

"That doesn't mean anything to me," she retorted, suddenly kicking up her left leg and using the momentum to whip her weapon underhandedly at the man. "Especially since there's no magic here, your Majesty."

He blocked off both points of her offense—stopping her foot by grabbing hold of her ankle and knocking off her charging spear with his wooden "magic" stave—and left her in a rather compromising position, keeping her kicked up leg extended above her waist.

"Doesn't a warrior like you rather prefer hand-to-hand combat, anyway?" Jellal smirked, especially when seeing her roll her eyes at his naïve move.

She leaned the rest of her torso back onto her spear, balancing the tip onto the ground, allowing herself the ability to kick up her right leg at his unguarded face.

He ducked off, letting her go, and she hopped back into a defensive stance.

"More like foot-to-your-face combat," she snorted, wrinkling her nose.

"Oh, you're so clever," he remarked, regaining his balance and cracking his neck to the side, a dark smile gracing his countenance.

And within the next second, he raced back towards her, parrying his stave against her spear in a series of whacks, thrusts, and plenty of ducking and swiveling around. She felt her heart beat quicken with the rush of adrenaline and the buzz of a mental challenge. They were fighting to the point where she couldn't just rely on her instincts, and she had to start thinking about how to break past their point of equal ratio of offense and defense and turn it to her advantage.

The scarlet-haired woman calculated—observing his steady points and his patterns of movement—and skillfully managed to bring the man back against the wall of the training hall, her vicious eyes and the sharp tip of her spear pointed at him.

"Indeed, your Majesty," she leered, continuing their conversational dispute. "I don't just rely on brute strength when I fight."

"Of course," he replied. "I wouldn't expect anything less from the heralded Captain of my most powerful Royal Army, now would I?"

The smirk on her face grew acutely, insurgent to her desire to not outwardly suggest that she might have actually enjoyed hearing his approval of her.

"But—" and within that second, she noticed his staff swinging around to the backs of her knees, "—you're letting your ego get ahead of yourself," he countered.

She first felt the whack of his staff to backs of her knees, then cursed the immediate buckling of her knees, before falling down to the ground on her back. He mirrored the position that she had brought him down to just moments before—except this time, she was flat on the floor and he was looking down at her with didactic eyes and the blunt end of his once-magical stave.

"I'd call that a win for me then, Knightwalker."

Said subordinate glared at him.

At some point, the King felt pity—at the power imbalance, she presumed—and he put away his staff and stretched a hand down to help her up.

She didn't take it. Neither the hand nor the pity.

"Please, Captain. Take my hand," he insisted. "I won't count this against you as an extra win for me."

"An extra win?" she suddenly asked him, a snarky grin climbing over her lips.

And before he knew it—her legs twisted around, catching hold of his ankle—and he came crashing down onto his side, groaning at the impact and slowly curling into as discrete of a fetal position as he could.

She snorted. "I never lost."

thir13enth