Hand-to-Hand skill vs. Bryon

With fear clutching my heart to alternately slow and hurry its beats, a sick weight in my stomach, and nervous energy running angry through my limbs, I caught Byron's wrist as he reached for me, pulled it down, and used flight to help step into his stride, planting one foot such that it was right behind his, the length of my leg leaning against the side of his knee, keeping him from extending his leg. It put him off balance, and he grabbed me to try and regain that balance.

I didn't need to care about weight or balance. I let flight carry me off the ground, got to the point my foot could touch down, and with a push forward, drove myself into him. He tumbled to the ground, started to grab my breastplate with both hands- and ended up grabbing it by one hand, because he might have stabbed himself on decorative spikes if he'd used the other hand.

He tried to pull me down on top of him, and I used flight to help arrest my fall. He was hanging off of my breastplate now.

"You have to realize there's something wrong here!" he grunted.

Even being out of practice, after having my arm in a sling, followed by a move that saw my weights and bars packed up, and even with my injured arm not being at one hundred percent, I was stronger than him. His build was the build of an average guy who ate and exercised an average amount, but who had also never developed his strength.

Because it would make him too similar to his brother, maybe.

I hit his sternum with the heel of my hand. He let go, and he dropped to the floor. All of the negative emotions were stronger, not better, after this exercise, and it pained me. I didn't want this to continue, I didn't want to think about the situation with Goddess and Amy.

***

I got a grip on the shoulder of his v-neck shirt, and used flight to wing around him, twisting up his shirt and putting my arm part of the way around his neck. I started to pull my arm into a proper headlock. He knew how to break it.

Had I used my strength, the Wretch would have torn him to shreds. This was the scenario Uncle Neil had been preparing me for when he'd sparred with me.

I'd sparred with Dean too. Roughhousing and real sparring both. The difference was that Byron kept trying to grab me, but Dean had been more of a striker.

"What do I say to convince you!?"

Byron brought his leg around, hard enough to bruise my side, and tried to use the momentum of the kick to drive me closer to the ground, where he could try to grab me again. I wasn't sure what he aimed to accomplish.

I knew what my goal was, though. To grab him, subdue him, and if we couldn't have him become Tristan again, we would keep him from calling the wrong people until Goddess could bring more people onto her team.

Again, I tried the head-lock. I let my aura burn at ember-level heat, my cold breastplate pressed against his back, the icon at the pointed top near my clavicle pressing in between his shoulder blades. As I'd used my flight to stress myself, I put weight on his shoulders, pressing him down with more than just my physical weight. His legs buckled.

- Gleaming 9.3