Amara didn't wait. The moment I squared my stance, she lunged, faster than I could process. Her fist collided with my gut, and the world lurched sideways.
The impact felt like being hit by a freight train. I stumbled back, gasping for air, the pain radiating through my core like a wildfire.
"First rule," Amara said, her voice calm and measured, as if she weren't in the middle of trying to pulverize me. "Never give your opponent time to think."
I barely had a moment to recover before she was on me again, her movements fluid and precise. I dodged her next strike just barely but my retaliation was laughable. My punch glanced off her shoulder, and she didn't so much as flinch.
"Pathetic," she said, sweeping my legs out from under me. I hit the ground hard, the impact jolting through every bone in my body.
I scrambled to my feet, adrenaline pumping. "You could at least tell me why you're doing this," I snapped, circling her warily.
Amara tilted her head, a mockery of contemplation. "Why? Do you think your enemies will stop to explain themselves before they rip you apart?"
"I'm not your enemy!" I shot back, feinting left before aiming a kick at her ribs. She caught my leg effortlessly, twisting just enough to send me sprawling again.
"No," she agreed, looming over me. "But you are weak. And that, Seraphina, is unacceptable."
Her words stung almost as much as her strikes. I rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a stomp that would've likely shattered my ribs. "I'm not weak!" I growled, pushing myself upright.
"You cling to your humanity like a lifeline," she said, her voice cutting through the chaos. "You hesitate, you overthink, and worst of all—you doubt yourself. That is weakness."
She came at me again, her fists a blur. I managed to block one punch, but the force still sent me staggering. Another hit landed on my shoulder, then my jaw, and I tasted blood.
I tried to retaliate, throwing a flurry of punches, but she dodged them all with infuriating ease. Her movements were effortless, a dance of power and precision.
"You have potential," Amara said, grabbing my wrist mid-swing and twisting it painfully. "But you waste it. You let fear and self-pity chain you down."
I gritted my teeth, using my free hand to aim a desperate punch at her side. It connected, but it felt like hitting solid rock.
She smirked, tossing me backward like I weighed nothing. I hit the ground with a grunt, my body screaming in protest.
"This is why you'll never be a hero," she said, her tone cold and unforgiving. "Because you can't even stand up for yourself."
Her words were like daggers, each one striking deeper than the last. I wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong, but the truth was undeniable: I was outmatched.
I staggered to my feet, my breaths coming in ragged gasps. My vision blurred, but I refused to give up. "You don't know me," I said, my voice shaking with anger and pain.
"I know enough," she replied, her eyes glowing like molten gold. "I know you're afraid of what you could become. You're so desperate to prove yourself, but you lack the conviction to do what needs to be done."
She darted forward, faster than I could react, and her fist slammed into my side. Pain exploded through me, and I crumpled to the ground, clutching my ribs.
"Stop holding back," she said, crouching beside me. Her voice was softer now, almost coaxing. "Show me what you're really capable of. Or are you too scared to embrace your own power?"
Her words ignited something inside me—a spark of defiance, a flicker of rage.
"I'm not scared," I whispered, pushing myself up. My body trembled, every muscle screaming for rest, but I refused to stay down.
Amara stood, watching me with a predatory smile. "Prove it."
I clenched my fists, drawing on every ounce of strength I had left. My vision narrowed, focused solely on her.
I charged, throwing a wild punch that she easily sidestepped. But this time, I didn't stop. I spun, aiming a kick at her legs. She dodged again, but I felt the edge of her coat brush against my foot.
"Better," she said, her tone laced with amusement. "But not good enough."
She retaliated with a flurry of strikes, each one precise and devastating. I blocked what I could, but most of them landed, leaving me reeling.
"You're too slow," she said, grabbing me by the collar and lifting me off the ground. "Too predictable. Too… human."
The last word was a sneer, and it hit harder than any of her punches.
"I'm trying," I choked out, clawing at her grip.
"Trying isn't enough," she said, tossing me aside like a rag doll. I hit the ground hard, my body refusing to cooperate as I tried to get up.
Amara loomed over me, her shadow stretching like a dark omen. "If you want to survive in this world, you need to let go of your limits. Stop thinking, stop doubting, and fight."
Something inside me snapped. Her words, her strikes, her condescension—it all blurred together into a whirlwind of frustration and fury.
Heat flared in my chest, a searing, unfamiliar sensation that spread through my veins like molten lava.
Amara stepped back, her expression shifting from amusement to curiosity. "Ah," she murmured, her golden eyes narrowing. "There it is."
I pushed myself to my knees, my hands digging into the dirt. The heat intensified, building to an almost unbearable crescendo. And then, with a roar, it erupted.
Flames, red and fierce—burst from my body, swirling around me like a living entity. The air crackled with energy, and the ground beneath me scorched black.
Amara watched, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Finally."
I stood, the flames dancing around me, their heat a comforting presence rather than a threat. My breaths were steady now, my pain dulled by the surge of power coursing through me.
For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel weak. I didn't feel helpless.
And as I met Amara's gaze, I saw something in her eyes that I hadn't expected: approval.