Navarro’s eyes, devoid of warmth, fixed on Inezia’s face. The cerulean glow from the arcane tubes behind him cast his features into sharp relief, revealing a predatory glint Inezia had never witnessed in her ‘mentor’. Her shortsword felt abruptly light against the wickedly curved, venom-slick stiletto he held. The air grew thick, humming with the power vibrating through brass conduits and the raw venom rising from the man before them. “The stray bitch,” Navarro repeated, a soft, amused chuckle rumbling in his chest. “A pit-rat playing at being a hound. Such audacity.” Inezia didn't move. She watched his eyes, waiting for the flicker, the tell that betrayed intent. Her knuckles were white on the hilt of her sword. This wasn't a duel of honor. This was a hunt. Thiago, still reeling from the shock of the locked doors, materialized at her side. His own blade, a heavier, more ornate sabre, rose to meet Navarro's threat. “You won’t touch her, Inquisitor.” The words were a low growl, filled with a protective fury that vibrated in the confined space. Navarro’s smile widened, twisting into something cruel. “Ah, the Murguia whelp. Still playing guardian? You disappoint me, Thiago. I expected more ambition from a wolf, not a lapdog.” Without warning, Navarro lunged. He moved with a horrifying speed, a blur of dark robes, his poisoned blade a silver streak aimed directly at Inezia’s chest. Her pit-fighter instincts screamed, urging her to duck, to weave, to counter with a vicious thrust. But before she could react, Thiago roared. He threw himself forward, intercepting the attack, his sabre clashing against Navarro’s blade with a metallic shriek that echoed off the laboratory walls. The force of the impact made Thiago stumble. Navarro’s blade, deflecting off his sabre, scraped against his forearm. A thin line of crimson bloomed on Thiago’s skin, stark against his tanned flesh. He grunted, his face contorting in a grimace of pain, but his stance remained firm. “A scratch,” Navarro sneered, his eyes flicking to the wound. “But the venom will do its work.” Thiago’s arm began to tremble. His movements, usually fluid and precise, became sluggish. He fought through the haze, parrying another swift, precise thrust from Navarro, but his guard was weakening. Inezia watched in horror as a sickly pallor spread across Thiago’s face. His eyes, usually so bright with arrogance, clouded with a profound weariness. “Get back,” he rasped, his voice strained, pushing Inezia behind him with his uninjured arm. “He’s too fast.” Navarro, observing the venom’s progress, pressed his advantage. He danced around Thiago’s slower defenses, a ghost in the cerulean light, aiming for the vulnerable points. One more precise slash, a blur of motion, and his steel plunged into Thiago’s side, just beneath the ribcage. Thiago gasped, a choked sound, his eyes wide with shock. He staggered, dropping to one knee, his sabre clattering against the stone floor. A dark patch spread rapidly across the pristine white of his tunic. His head lolled, eyes struggling to focus on Inezia. “Go… run…” The sight struck Inezia with sharp, suffocating force. Navarro intended to kill them both, slowly, horribly. But first, he would make her watch. The rage, cold and absolute, that had simmered beneath her skin for months, now ignited into an inferno. Thiago, the arrogant, infuriating bastard who had pushed her to her limits and then chosen to protect her, was now dying because of her. No. Not like this. Not him. She moved, a blur of motion. Her shortsword became an extension of her fury, no longer following the refined forms of Order swordsmanship. This was the dance of the pits, brutal and unforgiving. She didn’t parry; she aimed for joints, for tendons, for anything that would cripple. Her blade scraped against Navarro's, then darted low, aiming for his knee. He sidestepped, surprised by her sudden, wild ferocity. “Crude,” Navarro scoffed, but a flicker of irritation crossed his face. He’d expected her to break, to cower. Instead, she was an unleashed beast. She pressed her attack, abandoning all pretense of elegance. She kicked, aiming for his groin, forcing him to flinch back. Her sword ripped through the sleeve of his robes, a minor cut, but enough to draw blood. She could feel the hound’s venom coursing through her own veins, a dull ache in her arm, a burning in her shoulder. It was a poison, a curse, but right now, it served as fuel. As Navarro parried an overhead chop, leaving his face exposed for a fraction of a second, Inezia acted. With a snarl, she raked the back of her left hand across the fresh wound on her right arm – the hound bite, still oozing black ichor. The corrupted blood, thick and viscous, coated her palm. In a single, fluid motion, she flung her hand forward, splattering the venomous, blackened droplets directly into Navarro’s eyes. Navarro screamed, a sound of pure agony. The dark ichor sizzled on his skin, burning and blinding him. He staggered back, hands clawing at his face, his curved knife falling from his grasp and clattering across the stone floor. She didn't hesitate. Her sword, no longer a weapon of vengeance but a tool of cold, savage efficiency, arced down. With a shattering *crack*, she brought the flat of the blade down hard on Navarro’s wrist, the bone giving way with a sickening pop. His scream intensified, a ragged, animalistic sound. As he crumpled, she drove her boot into his chest, sending him sprawling to the floor, his broken arm useless. He lay there, writhing, blinded and broken, groaning in a pool of his own blood and the black ichor from her attack. Her sword point hovered over his chest, trembling slightly with her fury. Vengeance. This was it. The final blow. Her brother’s murderer, at her mercy. The taste of it, metallic and sweet, filled her mouth. Then, from the shadows, a glint. A small glass vial, cylindrical and clear, rolled across the floor, dislodged by the chaos. It bounced once, twice, picking up speed, heading directly for a deep, iron-grated floor drain near the edge of the horrifying machinery. The cure. Thiago. The decision was a single, agonizing flash in her mind. Strike the killing blow, or dive for the vial.

Pit Tactics