Flower girl.

Exidus darted forward, movements stripped of hesitation. A Krav Maga elbow slammed into Autumna’s jaw, snapping her head sideways. His knee followed, spearing her midsection, then a palm drove under her chin — each strike flawless, mechanical, relentless.

She staggered, just for a heartbeat. Petals peeled from her skin where his fists struck, body rippling, face sliding back into place as if mocking his effort.

Exidus pivoted without pause, fists a blur — Wing Chun chain punches raking across her chest, each one calculated to crush, to collapse, to incapacitate.

Autumna tilted her head back, lips curling in amusement. Her golden eye gleamed as she raised a hand, spinning leaves upward into a violent spiral. The stalks weaved together, forming a curved scythe of sharpened petals and stems. She dragged it across the floor, the screech slicing through the air.

“Once… there was a silly little flower girl.”

Exidus closed the gap again, shoulder driving into her sternum. He hooked her scythe-arm, wrenched it sideways, then slammed his skull into hers. Bone should have shattered — but her jaw merely unhinged, cracked, and realigned.

“She knew nothing of pain,” Autumna continued, twirling the scythe. The air trembled as it carved into the wall. Exidus ducked a swing, swept a leg in a judo kick — buckling her stance for only a moment.

“Living with her mother, she knew nothing of this endless rain…” Her weapon slammed down, caught in his iron grip, sparks flying as she forced him backward. “She knew nothing of the cruel truth,” her voice rising in manic joy, “that what you want most… will never, ever be obtained.”

Exidus hammered fists into her gut, piston-like, each one landing. She laughed with every strike, face twisting, petals bursting with every motion.

“Her laughter turned to screams." A knee to his chest hurled him across the room. He rolled, forcing himself upright, stance reset, unbroken. “Then from screams to silence…” Autumna’s scythe spun overhead, a hurricane of leaves trailing her limbs. “…as she turned to ash before her father’s eyes.” She lunged. Blades met forearms, metal groaning, sparks flying. Her golden eye caught the faint light on Exidus’ chest — the object embedded there, glowing softly. She paused, a tilt of her head, almost tender.

“Now…” Her tone dropped, guttural, teeth glinting, “she serves as something else.”

Petals recoiled into her skin. Her golden eye blazed through the curtain of hair.

“Now… she is me.”

The scythe came down.