While she was lost in her own thoughts, Blake Belladonna only came down to Earth when she realized something other than the floor was beneath her foot.
She moved her foot back and looked down to find a grimm she was unfamiliar with, not two inches in height. It resembled a tick, but had a long, mosquito like probscis and was cyclopic.
In the blink of an eye, Blake unsheathed Gambol Shroud, but the grimm was even faster. It lept on to her shin, bit her, then fell off onto its back. Dead.
“AH! DAMN!” Blake exclaimed as she winced in pain and finally looked around her, noting she seemed to be in some sort of dining room. He knew that as maladies from grimm go, she could have had it a lot worse. She was used to getting into high stakes scrapes after all. That didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt to have a needle stab you in the front of the leg.
As the pain subsided as suddenly as she had experienced it, she knelt beside the dead grimm.
“What kind of defense mechanism kills you when you use it?” Blake thought aloud to herself as she examined the tiny husk on the floor, only touching it with the tip of her blade. “There isn’t even any lasting damage. Even bees at least leave a welt”
Suddenly, a crack split down the grimm’s belly. Blake jumped back as a dark cloud billowed up from the opening. Blake took a fighting stance, ready for anything. Or so she thought as the smoke compacted and took her form. Identical in every way save for the eyes, black lenses with visible red veins and the tell tale solid yellow, glowing irises of grimm. This imposter’s face wore a sneering smirk that got right under the real Blake’s skin.
Katana at the ready, shock transforming into rage, Blake shouted interrogatingly at the room’s only other occupant. “Who are You!?”
In an identical stance, the imposter chuckled “Who are YOU?” she cried back. Enflamed that this copycat was, well, copying her, Blake charged her imitating opponent, while she did the same, also adopting a demeanor of battle fury. As to be expected, they were evenly matched. Every thrust and parry was met with its counter or evasion. Back and forth, they almost danced with each other in this way until the ribbons on the hilts of their identical weapons tangled together. Not wanting to pause the fight too long, the Blakes toss their armaments in the same direction, as if by mutual agreement. Their sword blades pierce the wood of the long dining room table, standing them up, the length of their knotted ribbons apart from each other. They tossed their sheaths next, which landed on either side of the sword bridge.
Without a word or gesture, Blake and her doppelgänger came together in a deep “thwack” and began to clinch in a grapple.
Rated: G Author: Master Xiodes <raziel · the · upgrade @ gmail · com>
Aug 21, 2018 17:00