The first strike connects with such force that gravity around us seems to multiply by ten in a single millisecond. The impact reverberates through my arms and climbs my spine.
For a fraction of a second, impossibly slow, I see the shaft of Freya's scythe bow under the pressure against Eventide.
My knees crack, absorbing the shock. My weapon is lighter, faster—but Freya is a Reef. Her inertia is a tide of concrete to me.
The kinetic energy of the collision detonates and throws us backward at the same time.
I was already expecting the recoil.
The advantage of having nearly died a thousand times in another life is that my body knows the physics of pain before the pain arrives.
I sink Eventide into the stone of the plaza, tearing a trench of sparks to brake my slide—and then, using the black blade as leverage, I slingshot myself back into a furious dash.
To my surprise, Freya didn't pull back to recover.
