4 Swiftword

"Clearly, you are just wasting your breath on me," Reid taunted Abella, his voice edged with calm disdain. "Would a beast talk to its meal? Would a murderer explain their motives to their victim? Most often, they wouldn't. Your yapping around is either to buy time… or for some other purpose."

Abella's eyes narrowed, her playful demeanor fading slightly. "Enlighten me," she replied with a low hiss. Her smile tightened, the amusement in her eyes hardening into something colder. Her sword stance remained steady. Reid recognized martial training in her form: the way she shifted her weight, her eye movement, her placement, her shoulder, and everything.

It wasn't obvious at first glance, but she was fairly built for a barmaid.

"You tried to kill me, and then you failed. Now, you try to converse, try to plant ideas in my head. For a mutant—"

Before Reid could finish, Abella turned into a blur of motion.

Reid rolled to one side, narrowly avoiding her strike. Strands of his hair fluttered in the air, severed cleanly by her blade—a chilling reminder of how close she had come.

CLANG~!

Abella's poisoned short sword clashed against Reid's daggers, the sound reverberating through the narrow alley. They locked weapons for a moment and made direct eye contact as Abella delivered her rant.

"Don't use a dirty word like 'mutant' on me— I am gifted, do you hear me?" Abella snarled, her voice filled with a mix of fury and pride.

Reid held her gaze, unfazed by her anger. "Gifted or not, the truth is you're just being a bitch," he retorted, pushing back against her sword with a surge of strength. "And that's a contradiction. You see, bitches be bitching when they get rejected, they don't get stabby-stabby, ya hear?"

Abella's expression twisted into a snarl. Her predatory grin was gone, replaced by something more dangerous. "Contradiction? Fuck you—"

With that, she launched a flurry of strikes with superhuman speed and precision. But Reid countered them with just as much vigor. His danger sense guided him as he parried and dodged each blow. His movements were a blur of controlled grace.

"Still think you're superior?" Reid asked, his voice calm even as their blades clashed again and again. "Or is this just you compensating for something?"

Abella's eyes flashed with anger, and she pressed her attack with renewed ferocity. But Reid could see it now—her confidence was wavering, her movements becoming more erratic as she realized he wasn't as easy to take down as she had thought.

In a swift motion, Reid disarmed her, sending her sword clattering to the ground. He pinned her against the wall, his dagger pressed to her throat. "You're out of tricks, Abella," he whispered, his voice cold and deadly. "Now, let me tell you what I think."

Abella glared at him, her chest heaving with exertion. For a moment, she looked like she might fight back, but then her expression softened, a sly smile curling at the corners of her lips. "Try me, milk drinker. Or do you want me to call Mommy to hold your hand?"

"Funny," Reid smirked, tightening his grip on Abella. "So, mutant—"

Before he could finish, Abella spat directly in his face, her eyes burning with fury. "Don't use that dirty word on me!"

Reid's expression didn't change as he calmly wiped the spittle off his face. "Someone's got insecurities," he taunted. His tone was light despite the tension in the air.

For someone who had only recently learned the local language, it was peculiar how Reid knew the word 'mutant,' or its equivalent in this world. The truth was simple: the word was famous, spoken of in reverence in the tavern. Here, 'mutant' wasn't a slur but a title of honor. In this world, mutants were revered like gods—powerful, respected, and often feared. But Abella's reaction was an anomaly. Her hatred for the word made her a curious case, one that intrigued Reid.

Abella's snarl deepened as she twisted slightly against his hold. "Mutants… such a fucking joke… We're all humans in the end. We bleed too. We feel. Why does the world have to be like this? Why can't we just be people?"

There was a raw bitterness in her voice, a deep-seated resentment that went beyond her immediate situation. Reid could sense that this wasn't just about him or the fight; it was something that ran deeper, something that had been festering in her for a long time.

"The sentiment isn't lost on me," Reid replied, genuinely curious now. "But isn't this better than being hunted like monsters by common men? Seen as an expression of evil, hunted to extinction for the sake of self-preservation?"

Abella looked at him as if he had just spoken gibberish. "Why would the common men do that? Hunt the Gifted? The Gifted are so much more powerful than them."

The way she said it, with such casual certainty, revealed the vast cultural gap between them. In her world, the Gifted weren't just powerful—they were superior, unquestionable in their status. Reid realized that his question hadn't matched her common sense at all, highlighting just how different this world was from his own.

He eased the pressure on her throat slightly, his mind working through this new information. "So, you hate being called what others revere," Reid mused aloud, more to himself than to her. "You hate being seen as something other than just… human."

Abella's eyes narrowed, the anger in them cooling slightly as she studied him. "You wouldn't understand. You're not me."

"Maybe not," Reid conceded, his voice softening. "But I've been called worse things in my time. And I know what it's like to be different, to be seen as something you're not."

Abella's muscles tensed as she tried to get a one-up on Reid, but his danger sense flared, warning him of her intent before she could act. With a swift and calculated move, he pressed his dagger harder against her throat, drawing a thin line of blood.

"Nah uh," Reid murmured, his voice dripping with menace. "We've been off-topic. Let me get back to the main point. Now, let me tell you what I think."

Abella's eyes flashed with defiance as she attempted to shift her weight, perhaps hoping to catch him off guard. But Reid was quicker, his other dagger swiftly coming to hover just above her right eye. The deadly precision of his movements made it clear he wasn't playing games.

"Quiet now," Reid commanded, his tone low and dangerous. "Let me talk…"

Despite the palpable tension, Reid wasn't eager to drop bodies, especially not inside a town. The idea of mutant police or some equivalent organization lurking in the shadows crossed his mind—something akin to the group that had once captured him in his old world. He had no intention of taking unnecessary risks. If anything, the woman in front of him was a valuable source of information.

Reid took a breath, calming his intrusive thoughts as he studied Abella's face. There was something in her eyes—something that spoke of betrayal, of running from something she once believed in. He decided to take a calculated risk, piecing together what he knew.

"This is what I think—" Reid began, his voice steady and probing. "You're a deserter."

Abella's expression faltered for just a split second, but it was enough. Reid knew he had struck a nerve. The anger and bitterness in her words, the way she loathed being called a 'mutant' despite the reverence the word held in this world—it all pointed to someone who had turned her back on something, someone who had once been part of a greater whole and had chosen to walk away.

"You're running from something, aren't you?" Reid pressed on, his gaze never leaving hers. "You don't hate being a mutant—you hate what being a mutant did to you, what it made you do, what it made you become."

Abella's lips tightened into a thin line, her eyes darting away for the briefest moment before returning to meet his. There was no more bravado, no more defiance—only a cold, hard truth that neither of them could deny.

"So, what happened?" Reid asked, his voice softer now, almost gentle. "What made you run?"

"I am retired—" Abella began, her voice laced with bitterness, but Reid cut her off sharply.

"Bullshit!" he snapped, his eyes narrowing as he leaned in closer. "Four hours' walk from this town. Battlefield. Dead bodies everywhere. Crows feasting on cadavers. Blood soaking the grass. Does that paint a picture for you?"

Abella's face twisted in a grimace, but she remained silent, her eyes narrowing as she studied Reid.

"You're a deserter too, and a hypocrite as it seems," Reid accused, his tone harsh as he pushed the dagger a fraction deeper into her throat, just enough to make his point. "You knew I was a deserter, so you attacked me… makes sense."

As he spoke, Reid's brain worked in overtime, analyzing the situation with cold precision. There had been a misunderstanding, but one he could use to his advantage. The opal he had used as payment earlier, his clothes—looted from that very battlefield he had described—and the combat abilities he had displayed so easily. All of these pieces formed a bigger picture in her mind, one that Reid could shape to his will.

Soldier. The word hung in the air, and Reid grasped it, seeing its potential. It wasn't the truth, but it was a useful lie, one that could help him integrate into this world far easier than the truth ever could. He couldn't exactly go around advertising how he'd come into this world, and a 'deserter' wasn't the most appealing identity, but he could make it work. This was an unexpected gain for him, an opportunity he hadn't foreseen.

Though he hated how primitive this world was, he'd prefer this over the evil organization hunting for mutants back from where he came from.

Reid's expression softened, his voice lowering as he spoke again, this time with calculated sympathy. "We've both seen the horrors of war. We've both run from something. But that doesn't mean we have to be enemies. We can help each other… if you're willing to listen."

"Deserter my ass," Abella spat, struggling against Reid's hold with a ferocity that made the dagger at her throat dig deeper, drawing more blood. Reid had to pull back the blade he had hovering near her eye, shifting his stance to maintain control without causing unnecessary harm.

Abella's eyes blazed with fury and something else—recognition. "You won't fool me… The Order of Black has been infamous for hunting insurgents and deserters. You can spin whatever tale you like, but I see through you."

Okay? Quite a twist.

Reid's imagination worked at the revelation. The Order of Black. He hadn't heard of them before, but the way she spoke the name, dripping with venom, told him all he needed to know. They were feared, perhaps hated, and clearly, Abella had some history with them. This was an unexpected twist, but it was also a valuable piece of information.

"The Order of Black, huh?" Reid murmured, letting the name roll off his tongue as if testing its weight. "Sounds like a bunch of bad news. But you're mistaken if you think I'm one of them."

Abella's lips curled into a sneer, but there was doubt in her eyes. "You expect me to believe that? You've got the look, the skills, and that cold, calculating demeanor. If you're not one of them, then who the hell are you?"

Reid hesitated for just a moment, weighing his options. The truth was out of the question, but he needed something believable, something that would keep her off balance and perhaps even earn a sliver of trust.

"I'm no friend of the Order," he said finally, his voice low and sincere. "In fact, I've got my own reasons to stay off their radar. Let's just say we've got a common enemy, and leave it at that."

Abella's eyes flickered with uncertainty. She wasn't convinced, but Reid could see that she was beginning to question her assumptions. The tension between them crackled in the air, both of them aware that this conversation could go in any number of directions.

"You're not as convincing as you think," Abella said after a long pause, though her voice lacked the earlier venom. "But if what you say is true… then maybe we're not so different after all."

Reid didn't let his guard down, but he could sense a shift in the dynamic. "I don't expect you to trust me," he replied, his tone even. "But right now, we're both in a position where we can help each other—or make things a hell of a lot worse. Your call, Abella."

For a moment, they stood there in silence, each sizing the other up, each weighing the risks and the potential rewards. Finally, Abella gave a small, reluctant nod, though her eyes never left his.

"Fine," she muttered, the fight leaving her voice. "But don't think for a second that I won't slit your throat if you cross me."

Reid's lips curled into a half-smile. "Likewise."

"And my name is Elena," she added. "Elena Swiftsword."