[i]As Marcia waited, that was where she made her mistake; Zach was fast, and he knew it. He'd ran at sixteen miles an hour in sixth grade, and had been training vigorously for the past five years to increase that speed; tying bags of sand to his legs as he sprinted at top speed in mountain climate, regardless of rain or snow. And so he rushed at the hovering Marcia, legs pounding into the ground, propelling him forward with the speed of a slow-driving car, gripping his blade tightly. He only wished to prove that Marcia was no better than he, not kill her--he'd long done his fair share of murdering. When Zach was two feet away from Marcia he leaped up with surprising height, another thing the man had been training on. He raised his blade, and as he reached the peak of his leap he brought it down in a vertical slash at Marcia's right shoulder, his lips pursed in concentration as his face beaded with sweat; the butterflies in his stomach were gone, replaced by the intensity and speed of combat, leaving no room for thought besides what he was going to do next.[/i]