The Alpha and The Enforcer [TATE] (STILL EDITING)

Ellie's P.O.V

I can't believe this is actually happening. I'm standing toe-to-toe with Iron Fist—the legend himself—and somehow, I'm still on my feet.

His movements are impossibly fast. Every swing of his sword tests my limits. I block, dodge, pivot—barely a breath between attacks. He's not fighting to test me. He's fighting to end me.

But I'm not giving him that satisfaction.

I duck under a sweeping slash and counter with a horizontal swing aimed at his ribs. He parries with a flick of his wrist, spinning to deliver a crushing elbow toward my temple. I throw up my arm just in time, absorbing the blow—but the shock rattles up to my shoulder.

He's stronger than me. Smarter. Sharper. This isn't a fair fight.

But I didn't come here for fairness.

I grit my teeth and spin low, aiming a kick at his knee. He hops back just enough to avoid it, then lunges forward, blade aimed for my heart. I deflect, twisting my body sideways, feeling the wind of the strike pass inches from my chest. I bring my sword down with a grunt—he blocks it—and the vibration reverberates through my hands like lightning.

Our blades lock.

For a second, we're face to face, pushing against each other, testing strength.

"You've got guts," he grits out. "Too bad they'll be decorating this floor."

I grin through gritted teeth. "You talk too much."

I wrench my sword to the side, disengaging. I slam the pommel of my sword into his jaw—he stumbles, just a half-step, but I take the opportunity. I surge forward with a flurry of blows—one, two, three—hammering at his defenses.

He blocks them all.

But his rhythm breaks.

Then my back hits a wall.

He sees the opening and takes it.

His sword flashes toward my shoulder, and I raise mine just in time to block. The moment steel crashes against steel, he steps forward and clamps a hand around my throat, slamming me into the stone behind me.

My vision blurs. His grip is crushing.

"You're strong," he growls. "But you're outmatched. Face it, little wolf—you were never going to win."

I can't breathe.

I slam my forehead into his nose.

He grunts and stumbles back, blood spurting from between his fingers as he clutches his face. I drop to one knee, coughing, gulping in air like it's a lifeline.

Before he can recover, I spring upward and drive my knee into his gut. He folds with a choked exhale. I spin behind him and slam the hilt of my sword into his spine—he crashes to the ground with a snarl.

I take a step back, panting, sword raised.

"That's where you're wrong," I rasp. "I came here with a purpose—and I'll die fighting for it."

He climbs to his feet slowly, dragging the back of his hand across his bleeding nose.

"Touching speech," he growls, tightening his grip on his sword. "Shame it won't save you."

He charges.

I brace myself.

Our swords meet again in a flurry of steel and sparks. His attacks are faster now—desperate. Angry. I parry one, then another—but his blade comes down in a brutal arc and slices through the leather on my arm. Blood blossoms.