A Fair Fight 2/6
anonymous
August 1 2013, 05:26:58 UTC
“You’re slower, weaker, and older, Shepard. But if you want to die like the drell, far be it from me to stop you.” Leng stalked forward, monoblade resting against his shoulder. Shepard matched his steps, blade tip low and forward. As they came into range, Leng’s blade came to a ready position above his shoulder, bodyweight resting on the balls of his feet.
Shepard let his blade remain low, on the centerline. It invited attack and leveraged the speed of reflex action against deliberate action. Leng knew this, of course, but the younger man seemed to have issues with dominating his opponents.
Leng’s attack hissed in at his shoulder, his opposite shoulder. The assassin was good, executing the footwork necessary to redirect the attack as it came out. The mass effect drive in his blade popped on and off as Leng used it to shape his bladework.
Shepard disappeared into a flicker of dark energy, reappearing a few feet back. That…had been unexpected. He knew Leng was good. The others had comforted themselves with the myth that Thane, the only squaddie that could give Shepard trouble in hand-to-hand, had been slowed down by his disease.
Shepard knew that was bullshit. The fight was too short to trigger the symptoms, not that Thane didn’t have the discipline to fight through them. Thane had been killed on equal terms. Or at least as equal as terms could be when one man had a pistol and the other had a sword.
Frankly, after that exchange, Shepard suspected Leng had been toying with Thane.
A calm voice filled his ear. “Administering medi-gel.”
The hell? Shepard swore as he felt the squishy sensation of unset medi-gel coat his pectorals…and an impossibly thin icy brand that exploded into fire as the medi-gel set. His eyes narrowed as Kai Leng flicked his blade, a red drop falling from the crimson patch at the tip. That’s not good.
“First blood, Shepard.” Definitely had been toying with Thane.
“Last counts for all, Leng,” Shepard snapped his blade up and around his head, triggering the eezo nodules in his nervous system, ignoring the tearing sensations that made it through the painkillers. As the monoblade came down from over his shoulder he twisted it down into a flourish that uncaged the biotic energy he had just built up, and forced it out the tip of his blade. A battering ram of biotic force thundered towards the assassin’s face.
Shepard let his blade remain low, on the centerline. It invited attack and leveraged the speed of reflex action against deliberate action. Leng knew this, of course, but the younger man seemed to have issues with dominating his opponents.
Leng’s attack hissed in at his shoulder, his opposite shoulder. The assassin was good, executing the footwork necessary to redirect the attack as it came out. The mass effect drive in his blade popped on and off as Leng used it to shape his bladework.
Shepard disappeared into a flicker of dark energy, reappearing a few feet back. That…had been unexpected. He knew Leng was good. The others had comforted themselves with the myth that Thane, the only squaddie that could give Shepard trouble in hand-to-hand, had been slowed down by his disease.
Shepard knew that was bullshit. The fight was too short to trigger the symptoms, not that Thane didn’t have the discipline to fight through them. Thane had been killed on equal terms. Or at least as equal as terms could be when one man had a pistol and the other had a sword.
Frankly, after that exchange, Shepard suspected Leng had been toying with Thane.
A calm voice filled his ear. “Administering medi-gel.”
The hell? Shepard swore as he felt the squishy sensation of unset medi-gel coat his pectorals…and an impossibly thin icy brand that exploded into fire as the medi-gel set. His eyes narrowed as Kai Leng flicked his blade, a red drop falling from the crimson patch at the tip. That’s not good.
“First blood, Shepard.” Definitely had been toying with Thane.
“Last counts for all, Leng,” Shepard snapped his blade up and around his head, triggering the eezo nodules in his nervous system, ignoring the tearing sensations that made it through the painkillers. As the monoblade came down from over his shoulder he twisted it down into a flourish that uncaged the biotic energy he had just built up, and forced it out the tip of his blade. A battering ram of biotic force thundered towards the assassin’s face.
Leng charged through it.
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