Tarot's patience was running thin as he sat in the cage, a grumpy frown plastered across his face. "This is ridiculous! I can't even see the fight!" he huffed, kicking the metal bars in frustration. But the cage didn't budge. He gave it another solid kick, then another, and yet—nothing.
"Come on, let me out of here!" Tarot yelled, bouncing on his feet and pulling out his fighting staff. With a grunt, he slammed it against the iron bars, the sound echoing through the space like a drumbeat. "Is this made out of titanium or something?"
As if the cage cared, it stayed stubbornly in place. Tarot let out an exaggerated sigh and scratched his head. "Maybe if more of us try, we can break out."
With a flash of his hands, Tarot created multiple clones of himself, each one mirroring his exact expression of annoyance. The clones immediately started squishing into the tiny space, grumbling about the cramped conditions.
"Ugh, this room's tiny!" one clone complained, poking another in the ribs. "I feel like I'm in a can of sardines!"
"Hey! I was here first!" another clone argued, nudging the first clone aside. "Watch where you're pushing! I'm already crammed in this tiny box!"
"Seriously, this is the worst. I can barely breathe in here!" a third clone added, fanning itself dramatically. "It's like being stuffed in a box of overcooked noodles!"
One of the clones started kicking the bars too, but then stopped with a disappointed sigh. "I'm not gonna lie, guys, I think we're just gonna make the cage mad."
Tarot glared at them. "Oh, we're making progress, all right. Real smooth, everyone."
"Okay, but seriously," another clone said, squeezing his hands on the bars, "If I don't get some legroom soon, I'm going to snap!"
"Ugh, I'm getting a headache from all this whining," Tarot muttered.
And with that, they all groaned in unison, stuck in a tiny cage, arguing about the worst possible things they could in that cramped space.
Yipsiv and Nathaniel, both visibly worn, continued to circle each other in the middle of the fight. Their bodies were tired, but neither was willing to back down.
Yipsiv broke the silence, wiping the sweat from his brow with a slow, deliberate motion. "Well, I'll be damned, Nate," he drawled, his voice carrying a mix of exhaustion and begrudging respect. "I ain't gonna lie—your gunplay's sure as hell gotten a heap better since we last crossed paths. Even pulled a trick or two I didn't see comin', like that second piece o' iron you're packin'. Mighty clever, I gotta admit."
He chuckled under his breath, his hand brushing the handle of his cutlass. "Two guns, huh? Well, I reckon that's better than one, but I ain't so sure it's enough to make up for what your missin'." Yipsiv shifted his weight, his boots making a soft scrape on the ground, and he let out a slow breath.
"I mean, look at ya, Nate. You're all polished up and sharp, lookin' like a real gunfighter now. But what ya don't got is the one thing that matters when it's all said and done—the art of the blade."
Yipsiv's voice grew quieter, more ominous. He unsheathed his cutlass with a swift motion, the steel gleaming as the light from above caught its edge. "A gun's mighty handy in a tight spot, but when it comes down to it, a blade'll always get the job done. And you, Nate... you ain't ready for a blade dancer." He ran his fingers over the hilt, his grin widening as he spoke.
"Now don't get me wrong, yer sharp with those pistols o' yours. I can see you've come a long way since we last tangled. But you're still no match for this here weapon." He raised the cutlass high, letting the steel sing through the air as he swirled it around, eyes locked on Nathaniel. "Two guns ain't enough to beat a blade like mine."
Yipsiv's grin stretched wider as he spun his cutlass with deadly precision, the blade moving through the air in a series of fluid arcs. His eyes never left Nathaniel, watching for the slightest opening. "Ya ready for this, Nate?" he called out with a mocking laugh. "'Cause I sure am."
With a sudden, explosive movement, Yipsiv lunged forward, the cutlass slicing through the air like a snake striking. Nathaniel barely managed to dodge, twisting his body to the side just in time, the blade missing him by mere inches. But Yipsiv was relentless, his feet sliding across the floor as he moved with the grace of a dancer, bringing the cutlass back in a swift arc meant to catch Nathaniel off guard.
Nathaniel's reflexes were sharp, but the speed and unpredictability of Yipsiv's blade made it hard to keep up. He had to think fast, ducking low to the ground and spinning out of the way, narrowly avoiding another deadly swipe. He could feel the whoosh of the blade's passage in the air, a near miss each time. Sweat dripped down his face, and his breath came heavier with each passing second. Yipsiv's footwork was flawless, and he moved with the fluidity of a storm, his attacks relentless and precise.
"Come on, Nate! You ain't gonna dodge forever!" Yipsiv taunted, spinning the blade in his hand before launching into another rapid series of slashes.
Nathaniel ducked, then rolled to the side, his pistols drawn, but Yipsiv was already there, his cutlass flashing toward Nathaniel's chest. In a split second, Nathaniel's instinct took over. He dove backward, just avoiding the cutlass's edge, but the force of the blade grazing his coat sent a chill down his spine. He quickly scrambled to his feet, pivoting and taking cover behind a large piece of industrial machinery, trying to catch his breath.
Yipsiv, not giving him a moment of respite, advanced swiftly, his boots echoing off the metal floor as he moved toward Nathaniel's position. "You're gettin' slower, Nate. Guess you're not as quick as you thought."
But Nathaniel wasn't done yet. He knew he couldn't keep dodging forever. His hands were still steady as he gripped his pistols, eyes narrowed. Yipsiv was getting closer, his cutlass flashing in the dim light. Nathaniel waited for the perfect moment, keeping his movements tight and controlled.
In a flash, he dashed from his cover, his pistols raised. He fired in rapid succession, each shot designed to distract and keep Yipsiv off balance. The first shot barely missed, the second came closer, but it was the third that counted. Yipsiv's eyes narrowed as he attempted to block it with his blade, the bullet hitting the edge of the cutlass and causing a small explosion of sparks.
"Not bad, Nate, but not enough," Yipsiv snarled, swiping at the air with his blade, the force sending a gust of wind that threw off Nathaniel's aim. But Nathaniel was ready.
He dove again, rolling to his feet and keeping low, using the room's terrain to his advantage. He moved fast, ducking behind another stack of crates, then darting around pillars, his mind racing for a way to break through Yipsiv's defense.
Yipsiv's heavy footsteps grew louder as he charged forward, a snarl curling on his lips. He raised his cutlass high, preparing for another strike, and Nathaniel saw the opportunity. He darted out from his cover, catching Yipsiv off guard, and fired a well-placed shot that nicked Yipsiv's arm.
Yipsiv hissed in pain, but he was unfazed, spinning around in an almost graceful motion, slashing with the cutlass in a wide arc, aiming to catch Nathaniel off guard. Nathaniel ducked again, the blade singing through the air, narrowly missing his head.
"I see," Yipsiv growled, his grin never faltering. "But not fast enough to keep up with a real blade dancer."
Nathaniel's chest heaved as he caught his breath, eyes flicking between Yipsiv and the room around them, calculating his next move. He could feel the tension building, the weight of their rivalry hanging thick in the air. Yipsiv was relentless, but Nathaniel wasn't going to go down that easily.
"One way or another, this fight ends tonight," Nathaniel muttered under his breath, the storm of bullets and blades just beginning to escalate.
Nathaniel's breath came out in quick bursts, his body moving instinctively to dodge the deadly arcs of Yipsiv's cutlass. The floor beneath them echoed with each heavy step Yipsiv took, his blade slicing through the air with precision and deadly intent. Nathaniel knew he couldn't keep dodging forever, especially with Yipsiv's relentless speed and strength. He needed to act—quickly.
As Yipsiv lunged again, the blade aimed straight for Nathaniel's midsection, Nathaniel dropped low, crouching down just in time. Yipsiv's slash cleaved the air where his body had been, but Nathaniel was already reacting. With a sharp kick to the ground, he propelled himself backward in a smooth roll, using his legs to push off the ground and create distance between them.
Yipsiv, not giving him an inch, spun around to face Nathaniel, his eyes glinting with malicious intent. "Yer lookin' tired, Nate. Hope you ain't givin' up now."
Nathaniel didn't respond. Instead, he dropped into a defensive crouch, his legs coiled like springs ready to explode. As Yipsiv advanced, blade raised, Nathaniel waited for the perfect moment. His eyes flicked to the ground, calculating the distance, the trajectory of Yipsiv's blade, the next move.
As Yipsiv lunged again, aiming to bring the cutlass down in a brutal overhead strike, Nathaniel sidestepped with a swift roll to the side, but this time, he didn't just rely on his upper body to dodge. With a powerful kick from his left leg, he sent a sharp roundhouse aimed at Yipsiv's ribs, hoping to catch him off guard. The kick landed with a satisfying thud, knocking the wind from Yipsiv's chest and forcing him to stagger backward, his blade momentarily off-balance.
Yipsiv recovered quickly, but Nathaniel was already moving again. As he ducked under another wide slash, he used his legs to vault over a low crate, flipping through the air and landing with a soft thud behind it, putting another barrier between himself and his opponent.
"Going legless today, are we? Ya gettin' tricky now, Nate," Yipsiv grunted, spinning on his heel and dashing forward, but Nathaniel wasn't going to let him take the advantage. He sprung out from behind the crate with a powerful leap, bringing his knee up and delivering a sharp kick directly to Yipsiv's shoulder. The force of the blow sent Yipsiv reeling, his cutlass missing its mark as Nathaniel's foot hit home.
Before Yipsiv could recover, Nathaniel quickly followed up, using his legs to spin into a spinning roundhouse kick, his foot striking with such force that it sent Yipsiv stumbling back once again. This time, Nathaniel didn't give him a chance to retaliate. With a burst of energy, he shot forward, to propel him with shocking speed.
Yipsiv barely had time to react. His eyes widened as Nathaniel's leg shot out, landing a solid hit to his stomach, causing him to double over and gasp for air.
"You ain't half bad with them legs, partner," Yipsiv coughed, rubbing his bruised stomach and glaring up at Nathaniel. "But it's gonna take more than that to put me down."
Nathaniel's legs were burning from the constant movement, but the pain was nothing compared to the focus that consumed him. His body screamed for a break, but there was no time to think about that. His focus was sharp, and his instincts were on overdrive. He charged forward again, his pistols raised, ready to react at a moment's notice. The barrels flashed as he fired in rapid succession, each shot aimed at Yipsiv's vital points. Yipsiv, always fast on his feet, twisted and weaved, narrowly avoiding the deadly spray of bullets.
Nathaniel closed the distance, ducking low behind a large stack of machinery, reloading as quickly as he could. He needed a clear shot, a moment to catch his breath, but the fight wasn't giving him that luxury. Yipsiv was already closing in, his cutlass held tight, a blur of steel cutting through the air. Nathaniel's eyes flicked back up just in time to see Yipsiv's blade coming toward him, but his pistols were already drawn, firing in quick succession. The shots ricocheted off Yipsiv's blade, sparks flying as the steel clashed with the bullets.
Nathaniel wasn't about to let up. He jumped into the air, using the momentum to spin around and land in a crouch, pistols aimed upward. Another barrage of bullets followed, each one finding its mark—Yipsiv's arms, legs, anywhere that wasn't his blade. The cowboy stumbled, forced to backpedal as Nathaniel's relentless gunfire drove him back.
"Damn, Nate," Yipsiv spat, wiping sweat from his brow. "You've definitely come a long way with that shootin' of yours."
Nathaniel didn't flinch. His pistols were back in his hands, ready for whatever came next. Every shot was deliberate, each movement precise. Yipsiv, despite his agility with the cutlass, couldn't keep up with the speed of Nathaniel's fire. The pressure was mounting. Nathaniel was no longer just a man with a gun; he was a storm, relentless, and always one step ahead.
To be continued...