Slice!
The edge of the knife darted past his arm and jerked left to cut him. Owen flipped his arm back and leaped back, creating distance—and failing. Captain Yasser chased after him, the left side of his body forward and thrusting his blade. Owen swerved and side-stepped accordingly. His feet shuffled closer and closer. The blades flew at him faster and faster. He didn't raise his arms. Owen focuses fully on dodging. Dodge, dodge, dodge—
Slice!
Blood seeped from his cheek. Captain Yasser had surprised him with a second knife. 'Reverse grip,' Owen noted, dodging continuously. Against a knife, footwork was key. He went in a circle, back-stepping and side-stepping cautiously. 'Gonna be hard to hit the pressure point in his wrist. On top of that, he's keeping up pressure.'
He was fighting faster too, his feet scraping as he went in for deeper combat. A second thrust made contact, nicking his arm. He was inching toward that lunge. The captain wanted to do it. However, he also understood the risks. A lunge meant he was attacking to kill; to murder in cold blood. That wasn't what this was about. This was a battle to display power, nothing more, nothing less.
The captain did an overhead swing with his left knife while sending a lower slash with his right. The distance between them was short, so either strike could have been lethal. Owen understood his fighting style at this point, stepped back to dodge both, and then swooped back in to grab his wrists. In a reverse grip, the only weakness was the moment succeeding the strike when momentum took over.
"As if!"
The captain's leg nearly slammed into his stomach. If it wasn't for Owen's intuition, it might have landed. He jumped and pulled himself over the man, his body seemingly as light as air itself, flying over and landing on the concrete. He slowly turned back and faced his smiley opponent.
"Against someone like you, I'll always assume you have some way to counter me," Captain Yasser said, his breathing controlled and obviously heavy. He had drained most of his stamina for that assault. At this rate, he was going to gas himself out.
Owen squinted. 'Who trained him? It seems half-military, half-informal.' He rolled his shoulder, relaxed. 'Either I'm rusty, the chest injury is worse than I thought, or the competition has been getting better since I retired.'
Owen could feel the adrenaline building up again. God, it was so damn hard to resist. His eyes caught the light reflecting off the knife. If that thing landed, it could lead to great blood loss. Hospitalization. 'Ophelia wouldn't like that,' Owen told himself. 'Not one bit.'
Beside him, one of the grunts began to get up. Owen promptly kicked him in the ribs, noticed the shift in Captain Yasser, and instantly burst forward. Knife wielders rarely fought defensively and when they did they were either afraid or rightfully confident. After all, how could a guy with a knife be pressured by someone with fists. Due to his reputation, however, that possibility rang through the captain's head. He thought his sharp knives could lose to his fists.
Still, the captain kept a cool head and went for a thrust. If Owen was any other man, he would have backed off right then and there. He didn't. He slowed down just barely and stomped a foot down his overreaching grip. A grunt of pain left him as his entire body was forced down.
Fighters often forgot just how powerful their legs were. Brought to his knees, Owen's foot keeping him down, he attempted another slash. Too slow. Before he could move his arm, Owen's foot smashed into his face. His head jerked back and forth like a bouncy toy. He landed a second boot to the face, this time releasing his stomped foot to slingshot him back. The captain staggered back, somehow bringing himself to his full height and raising his knives.
Owen put his hands in his pocket. The sunglasses of his opponent were broken to the point of—aaand he replaced them in half a second. He didn't even get to see his eyes since Owen had glanced at his grunts.
"I have to hand it to you," Owen said. "You're the third best knife-based fighter I've ever met. What do they feed you in this city?"
His nose was slightly squashed from the blow. Captain Yasser adjusted his new sunglasses, then the collar of his jacket. "I should ask you the same thing. What's Chicago do to make guys kick like that?"
"You know…push-ups."
"Right, right." Captain Yasser shifted his head ever so slightly to look at his men. Bernard was getting up, dazed as he was. "You could have knocked me out with that kick."
"Call me rusty." Or was it the chest injury? He couldn't tell. He put everything he had in that kick. Captain Yasser wasn't a joke unlike those other bozos.
"Damn, I couldn't tell." Captain Yasser inhaled and looked behind him. A car was rolling up into the parking lot. Owen sighed in his head. He figured they wouldn't attack with witnesses.
"Alright, gentlemen, let's go."
"B-but Captain Ya—"
"Bernard, shut the hell." Captain Yasser spun the blades in his hands and put them back in the insides of his jackets. Owen noted he had three other pairs of knives in them. "There's a reason Marcel didn't fight this guy. Let bygones be bygones." The captain strolled up to Owen and whipped out a hundred dollar bill. Owen blinked twice. "For your troubles."
The bill was impossible not to take. "Uh, thank you?"
"See ya." Captain Yasser gestured to his men. "And come on, people! He hit you once! Quit being such pussies!"
The Royal Lions scrambled to follow their captain. Owen stood there, alone with the rush of battle pulsing through him.
"Haha—!"
He slapped a hand over his mouth. Silence. His mind went empty but he could feel it.
Up against his hand, a smile crept up. No. No, no, no…!
'I have to go.'
Owen Hart had to go. He had to leave this life behind. He checked his phone and saw break time was over. He crossed the street, his heart twisting. The construction site entrance lay in front of him as did a friend.
"Oh, Owen." Frank flagged him over, grinning. "Guess what? Boss Mike extended our break!"
A relieved smile. Owen's heart rate slowed. "Really? Phew, I guess even the thawed heart of Mike can be melted."
"I wouldn't count on it. I think one of the guys mentioned a crane being weird. He just doesn't want to take risks."
"I liked my story better."
"Honestly, me too."
This was his life. This was the new Owen Hart.