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We make our way to one of the training areas on one of the upper floors of this spire. After a short walk, weaving through the densely packed tents, crates, and rebels, we make our way to the gyms. In the time we’ve been on Tilaarin, I’ve never seen this area empty, and today is no different. Luckily for us, one of the sparring rooms is mostly sparse.
Once we stake claim to one of the open areas of the room, I turn to look at Damon, whose eyes watch me closely. “Alright, highness,” Damon starts, a playful lilt in his voice, “you’ve roped me into this, what do you want to try?”
I smile, happy that I was finally able to convince him to train with me. Though he gripes about not training people, his playfulness betrays him. “You brag about fighting dirty, so I want to see what that’s like.” Damon quirks an eyebrow, looking at me, well, like how only Damon does, and I bite the inside of my cheek to fight off the smile that threatens to show. “We can save that, sir, for later. You know what I mean.”
Caught red handed, his heady look dissipates with a snicker and he puts his hands in the air. “Alright, alright, but I’ll hold you to it.” Damon throws me a wink before continuing. “And sure, you can try to fight against me, and I’ll show you what it’s like to fight for real.”
Damon takes his place on the mat and beckons me towards him. “Whenever you’re ready, highness,” he says. “Let’s spar.”
Biting down a smile at him, I make my way to the mat across from him. We nod and the match begins.
Quickly, I see just how fast Damon moves. He keeps his body low to the ground, holding a perpetual squat. He’s able to dodge most of my strikes with ease, often slipping past my guard simultaneously and tapping me in a faux strike. When I go in for a rear punch, he slips beneath my fist, and I can feel the hard press of his shoulder into my body as he gets his leg behind me and bowls me to the ground. I’m just able to break my fall by the time he has already faux-elbowed me a few times. He puts a heavy hand down on my chest, not hard enough to constrict my breathing, but plenty so as to keep me down. “In a real fight, you’d be dead.”
His hand moves from my chest to my hand and he helps me up. I’m already panting, and yet, when I look at Damon, he seems at ease. “Wow, okay,” I breathe out, getting a very clear sense of the ship-wide gap between our skill levels. “Let’s go again?” I request, and when we share another nod, we continue.
This time, I play more of a defensive, trying to respond more to his attacks and see if I can counter like he had before. While I’m able to get one or two taps in, each one followed by a breath of praise from Damon, more often than not, It’s all I can do to either successfully dodge or block his strikes.
After a brief lull in strikes, Damon comes at me for a tackle. I’m able to stop his advance by bracing my hands against his shoulders. I quickly pass his head to the side beneath my arm and am able to get him into a guillotine choke, as Ayame once called it. I slow down a little, not wanting to hurt Damon as I do this, and begin to add pressure to his neck.
Damon taps out on my arm, and just as I begin to loosen up, he slips his leg behind me and trips me again. I go to the ground hard, not having expected him to keep fighting, and in my stun, Damon is able to trap my arm and neck between his to succeed in his own choke. I tap on his shoulder quickly, feeling my airways being cinched. Damon lets go and hops away from me quickly.
When I don’t get up immediately, panting to catch my breath as I give a ‘time-out’ signal, Damon comes back and kneels next to me.
“You alright?” He asks, voice soft. I half-glare at him for what he pulled but nod. He huffs a breath of laughter and gently pushes some hair back from where it sticks to my sweaty forehead. “In a real fight, someone might take advantage of your ‘proper training,’” he says, looking up and around the room. “Happened to me once. Had a guy in a joint lock and he tapped my shoulder, I let go and it earned me a knife to my arm.” Damon subtly rolls his right shoulder with a grimace, as if reliving the knife’s sting. He looks at me then. “If you have to choke someone, wait for about six seconds or until their body slumps. That’s when you’re safe to let go.”
I watch Damon as he talks about this, my annoyance at his dirty move clearing out as he explains and as I begin to truly understand what fighting dirty means. I roll my legs to the side, nudging Damon and getting his attention back to me. “Thanks,” I whisper. I don’t enjoy needing to know this knowledge, six seconds, tapping tricks, and the like, but I’m grateful that Damon told me.
“How you feeling, baby?” Damon asks, and I could almost melt at how softly he calls me that.
“Good,” I hum and reach up to grab ahold of his hand. “I just want to be with you,” I say. It’s silly to worry about him not only for something that already happened, but for something that has kept him alive since, but I do.
“Let’s go then,” he says, seeming to pick up on my unsettlement. He pulls me to a stand once again, and hand in hand we walk back to our room.