“Make me, bitch,” he spat.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, cur,” she spat right back, smiling. 

The barkeep yelled at them, “Don’t even think of fighting in my goddamn inn, you hear me?!”

“Want to take this outside, little boy?” Zelsys asked Halxian.

“Wherever you wish, hag,” he grinned. “No lethal weapons or techniques, first one to be incapacitated or submit loses.” 

“So be it.”

None of the three Ikesians said anything to object, but they did follow Zelsys and Halxian when they walked out of the inn, as did Halxian’s companions. No more than a minute later, Zelsys was staring the young man down from ten feet away. The three stood a few meters behind her, Sigmund’s arms crossed as he observed. Her cleaver and Tablet were in Makhus’s grasp, whilst the gun alongside its arm-harness sat tightly clutched in Zefaris’s arms. She even took her boots off, just so she wouldn’t have to worry about breaking the brat’s spine with a kick.

In much the same way, Halxian’s compatriots took up stands a few meters behind him, but as these types of duels go, a crowd gathered well before the fighting could start. In fact, Halxian seemed reluctant to start before some sort of audience had gathered. A surprising portion of the bystanders were old men, noisily reminiscing about their own youths, though the vast majority were the youth - mostly teenagers, though a few younger children peeked through the innermost circle. 

“You, old man!” he yelled, pointing at one of the older bystanders. “Countdown from three.”

The balding, spindly-looking man nodded, and pointed his calloused hand skyward. He looked to each of them in turn, first to Halxian and then to Zelsys. 

“Three!”

The young man’s eyes confidently drifted across the gathered crowd, and he dropped into a low, exaggerated stance, arms and legs both wide. Zelsys just observed, subtly stepping forward with her left foot and placing her weight on it. She used the extra time to take a long, deep breath, filling her lungs to their limits. “No, that’s not the limit…” she thought, focusing to push her diaphragm further down and open up her chest to let her lungs expand even further. 

“Two!”

With exaggerated, crystal-clear enunciation, Halxian recited, “Cloud-scattering Sacred Breath!”

The balding man hesitated for a moment at that, but continued with his countdown.

“One!”

The man swung his hand downward to signify the start of the duel.

Halxian took a sudden breath, creating a brief surge of wind directed towards him. Threads of Silver Fog began to rise from his open mouth, and he exploded towards Zelsys at an admittedly impressive speed, trailing veritable ropes of Fog as he went.

Her focus galvanized into a decision in the brief moment between the beginning of Halxian’s charge and the moment he could reach her. His fist was already held out high, he either didn’t know or didn’t care to avoid telegraphing his move. Perhaps he thought he was moving too fast for her to see.

In a fraction of a second she shifted her weight forward, bending her knee and extending her fist with the intent to meet his charge with an even greater counter-force the moment just before he would strike. She didn’t need a weapon to riposte.

A sharp exhalation, half her lung capacity all at once. A surge of Fog pouring from her mouth and nose, equalling an equivalent surge of strength translated into that brief forward movement.

The impact came, her fist against his collarbone. Pain shot up her arm from the force and she was quite certain her knuckles were bruised, and at least one finger was close to dislocating due to the angle of impact. He flew backward, skidding across the cobbles.

Zelsys exhaled yet more Fog, emptying her lungs before she took another deep breath, this time filling them to the fullest capacity all at once in the span of perhaps three seconds. Somehow, the Fog she had exhaled continued just drifting away and fading, and instead clear air cut through it to enter her airways. She could hear speech and hollering from people in the crowd, but they were just background noise, out of focus. 

The exhilaration of combat was already filling her body, a grin spreading across her face as she kept her eyes focused on her opponent’s nearly motionless form. Coughing and spitting blood, Halxian struggled to his feet, staring at her half amazed and half furious. 

“Y-you bitch!” he laughed disbelievingly. “You’re… A Fog-breather too!”

He dropped into that self-same stance as before, once more exclaiming, “Cloud-scattering Sacred Breath!”

Another implosive inhalation, a gust of wind whipping past her. Unlike the time before, he didn’t charge at her. Instead, he began circling her in that low stance, slowly, methodically, drawing a near-perfect circle with the silvery threads of his exhalation. The circle of bystanders quickly widened as he neared the edge, despite the fact he wouldn’t have hit it anyway.

All the while, she did no more than returning to a relaxed stance, poised to riposte his strike in the exact same way as before, but aware that he likely wouldn’t try the same failed approach twice. A half-circle became a full revolution, and a full revolution became two. At some point, he briefly stopped exhaling and took in another violent inhalation. She was beginning to feel the burning sensation of needing to breathe, and a realization flashed through her mind.

“Observant little brat,” she thought. “Playing chicken until I gotta take another breath.”

A small exhalation, just enough to make a visible thread of Fog. Halxian lunged, zigzagging left and right, both arms held out. An exhalation to sidestep, another to deliver a sideways kick to where she thought he was. Only, it didn’t connect. A hand wrapped around her leg, and before she knew it, the cobbles met her back, expelling nearly all the Fog from her lungs in a long wheeze.

When she regained her bearings, he had her left leg in some sort of hold, staring at her with a demented grin on his face.