The fight exploded into a savage ballet. The darkness was our arena, the only sound the ragged breaths, the shush of our clothes, and the blade whispered its intent, seeking a hold in flesh or bone.
We were an even match in ferocity, though they outweighed me. They used brute force; I used momentum and speed.
A sharp, downward swing of the knife. I ducked low, pivoting, and snapped my foot out in a quick, vicious side kick to the back of their knee.
They stumbled, the momentary imbalance I needed. I slammed my left forearm across their wrist, hearing a sharp, satisfying crack. The knife clattered onto the floor, skittering into the corner.
We traded blows in the sudden, silent fury of hand-to-hand combat. I landed a crisp right hook to their jaw that rocked their head back; I was winning.
But they countered instantly, catching my next kick and shoving me hard against the wall, stealing my breath. They were all relentless pressure, all raw power. I was overpowered.
