Page 11 of The Edge of Dawn

He struck again, this time putting the full power of his cybernetic left arm into the blow.

Dragek blocked again. He felt the crunch of bone as he absorbed the massive impact with his forearm.

You infernal monster.

He danced back and attempted to deliver a savage kick to Ashrael’s side.

The Silent One dodged. Then he struck back.

Dragek evaded, moving a little faster than before. It was true; his body was stiff and a fraction slower than usual, but his instincts were still the same, sharpened by revolutions of brutal training.

He found his rhythm, syncing with Ashrael’s. Their sparring turned into a free-flowing dance: a graceful choreography of violence that grew faster and faster, more and more brutal. The moves were familiar, but none had ever executed them with such brutal precision as his opponent.

Dragek was sparring with a master—one he was determined to equal and then surpass.

He was so very close, but in their world, close meant death.

Close wasn’t good enough.

He had to become perfect.

Strike. Punch. Turn. Block. Kick.

They danced.

Their ka’qui flowed around them: two powerful, savage auras colliding… and sometimes swirling in unison.

He lost track of time.

And suddenly, he was filled with euphoria because this was the opponent he’d always dreamed of.

Assassination was a thankless task, devoid of honor. Dragek had always envied the warriors of the military, who fought real battles. His opponents were often unguarded and unaware; asleep or completely oblivious to his approach. And when there was some sort of resistance—bodyguards and the like—it was often short and sharp and bloody.

He left a trail of dead in his wake.

Very few could match his skills.

But Ashrael was one of a handful that could best him.

Dragek took blows and returned them with equal viciousness. His mouth curved into a smile. The feeling of pure, raw combat was exhilarating.

He smashed his elbow into Ashrael’s face, causing a tendril of blood to seep from the Silent One’s nose.

Ashrael snorted and shook his head before launching into a blistering barrage of blows, putting Dragek on the back foot.

He went on the defensive, drawing Ashrael into his retreat. If he didn’t think of something soon, that bastard would get the upper hand.

He had to take a risk.

He reached the wall of the training chamber, a solid mass of Qualum; not quite hard or soft, not warm or cold. Suddenly, his back was pressed up against the solid surface.

Ashrael was relentless. His fist shot forward. Dragek ducked, dropping to his haunches.

Boom! Ashrael’s modified arm connected with the surface of the wall, pounding the spot where Dragek’s head had been only a heartbeat earlier.

The air around them reverberated with the force of the blow. If Dragek had hesitated even for a moment, he would have gotten his skull smashed in.

In a wild, unorthodox move, he lunged forward and tackled Ashrael, wrapping his arms around his lower body, bringing him to the ground. He slammed him face-first against the wall and wrapped his arm around his neck, attempting to choke Ashrael out.

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