Page 114 of Shielded Heart

But there was a key difference between them—despite his cunning, despite his coldness, Vaund still fought with the same savagery as before. His attacks were meant to be overwhelming in force and speed, were meant to overpower rather than outmatch his foe.

“You seem out of breath,” Arc said, deflecting a powerful blow from Vaund’s blade. “We can pause for a moment to rest, if you’d like.”

Vaund snarled and launched into a succession of rapid, heavy-handed strikes, his movements too quick to leave Arcanthus time for an adequate counterattack but too sloppy to land a blow.

“Wouldn’t want you at a disadvantage, Vaund.” Arc swayed aside from a downward swing, narrowly avoiding the blade.

Vaund recovered, twisted his hand to reorient his blade toward Arcanthus, and swung backhanded. The sharp angle of the attack—aimed at Arc’s face—left Vaund overextended, with his chest exposed for an instant.

Arcanthus swatted the energy blade aside with the flat of his sword and twisted his hips, throwing significant power behind a punch that connected with Vaund’s ribs. The jolt of the impact ran up Arc’s cybernetic arm and into his flesh; his hand struck with a dulled metallic clang, like he’d punched a padded metal plate.

Vaund stumbled aside from the force of the blow but kept on his feet. His immediate, frenzied counterattack had Arcanthus once again on the defensive, backpedaling toward the stairs.

When Vaund drew back for an overhead swing, Arcanthus retorted with a quick slash.

Vaund released a choked sound and abandoned his attack to leap backward. The hardlight blade grazed his chest, leaving a long, horizontal cut that split wide and oozed dark blood. Backing away farther, Vaund hissed through his open respirator valve and lifted a hand to the wound, digging his clawlike fingers beneath the damaged flesh to peel it back—revealing not muscle and bone beneath but dark metal.

“My dying flesh has forced me to make a few changes over the years,” Vaund said. “A small price to pay for another chance to kill you.”

Arcanthus kept his blade up and ready. He’d not had a fight like this in a long while—he’d never really met his match during his time as a gladiator, though a few had come close. He turned his head slightly, keeping Vaund in sight while shifting his center eye to look at Samantha.

She stared at him with those big, dark, frightened eyes, her skin pale but for the blotches of red on her cheeks and the dark bruises already forming on her throat. She’d positioned herself in front of Drakkal, as though to shield the big azhera with her little body.

The sight made Arc’s chest tighten; he was so proud of her, so fiercely in love with her. She should have fled into the workshop with the others, but she’d gone back to help Drakkal. So foolish, but also so brave, so loyal, so selfless.

Arcanthus could learn so much from her.

For Samantha, for Drakkal, for all those who yet lived and all who’d been lost, Arcanthus needed to finish this.

“You talk too much,” Arc said. He leapt into an attack of his own, pushing himself beyond the limits of his strength, speed, and agility. Blade, fists, feet, elbows, knees, and tail blended together in an unrelenting, blistering assault.

Vaund released more grunts and growls as Arcanthus’s strikes broke through his defenses; the hardlight blade sliced off chunks of pale flesh and bit into the underlying metal, and Arc’s unarmed blows hit with resounding force, steadily beating Vaund back toward the partially open blast door.

Arc caught Vaund in the chest with a side kick; Vaund flew backward a few meters, slamming into the blast door. With a bestial growl, he raised his empty hand, directing his palm at Arcanthus. The armor on his forearm slitted open, pouring out a wave of heat and an intense red-orange glow. An energy blast of the same color burst from the center of Vaund’s palm.

Arcanthus dove aside. The blast struck his left forearm, and an electric jolt raced through the nerves connected to the prosthesis. He rolled onto a knee and glanced down with his center eye; the outer casing of his left arm glowed with residual heat, and wisps of smoke wafted off it. His hardlight blade was gone. When he bent his fingers into a fist, the digits moved slowly, stutteringly.

Vaund tossed his energy blade aside and straightened his other arm. Its heat vents opened.

Curling down into as tight a stance as he could, Arcanthus threw up his right arm and formed his shield. Vaund’s blast struck the hardlight barrier dead center. The shield flickered, and heat flowed around its edges, but it held; after a moment, the energy blast subsided.

Arcanthus sprang forward, swinging his arm and releasing the shield’s tether to throw it at Vaund. The hardlight disc hit Vaund as he was charging another shot, knocking his arm aside and sending the blast into the nearby wall. Arc struck an instant later, driving his knee—with all his weight and momentum behind it—into Vaund’s chest.

Caught between Arcanthus and the blast door, the subdermal armor beneath Vaund’s skin buckled, and he released another choked grunt. Vaund swung a fist at Arc’s head, but Arcanthus raised his damaged left arm and blocked the blow. When Vaund angled his other palm —the circular opening at its center still glowing orange—at Arcanthus, the sedhi caught his wrists and forced them up.

Vaund shoved off the blast door, forcing Arcanthus back a few steps before the sedhi braced his feet and halted Vaund’s advance.

Their bodies trembled as they struggled against one another, and Vaund’s wheezing breaths intensified. Not for the first time, Arcanthus was grateful that he’d undergone the expensive and painful procedures to reinforce his bones and muscles; his flesh would not otherwise have withstood the immense strain placed upon it in these moments.

The heat vents on Vaund’s arms flared, making the air around them waver. Arcanthus lost a centimeter of leeway on either side. He gritted his teeth and forced more out of his already overburdened muscles and prostheses.

Vaund snapped his head forward. Arcanthus dipped his chin, blocking the headbutt with his horns. The blow sent a jolt through his skull and down his spine.

“I was going to cut off your head,” Vaund said, “but I think I’ll rip it off with my bare hands, instead. Just for the satisfaction of watching your blood ooze from your tearing flesh.”

Fear had spreadthrough Samantha like frost across a windowpane, chilling her limbs and forming a sinking weight in her stomach. She’d known she never stood a chance against Vaund, even before seeing him and Arcanthus fight; it was a small miracle that she’d done any damage at all in her desperate attack.

But Arcanthus was struggling. She knew he was pushing himself to his limits,beyondhis limits, and what if that wasn’t enough? What if she lost him?

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