Page 59 of Wired Strong

Pim Wat, bleeding where the cup had caught against her mouth, stumbled toward the bedroom.

Connor had never done anything but spar with the Master in the past; those bouts had been intense, and he’d always lost. But he couldn’t think of that now; there was no room to concentrate on anything but coming out of this fight alive.

Connor circled the Master, chilled by the smile that curved the man’s lips, by the intensity of his hungry gaze on Connor’s face.

“You don’t really want to kill me. You want to die,” the Master said in that hypnotic voice—he had always been able to plant a suggestion with just a word.

Connor closed his senses to that seductive voice and speeded up time so that they circled each other in a spiral with the force of a tornado’s vortex, a whirl of kicks and punches.

Still the Master was supreme. Blows came out of that corkscrew of spinning energy faster than Connor could even perceive.

He absorbed them. He would not let anything register as pain or damage. He glanced briefly around the room to orient himself, and, like the last time they’d fought, they were circling above the ground at least eighteen inches, nothing but motion and energy.

He had to mix it up; surprise the Master, or the outcome was a foregone conclusion. This wasn’t a fight he could win.

Connor flipped, and as he spun through the air, reached for a throwing knife hidden in the custom-sewn leg pocket of his simple drawstring pants.

Nine had created that pocket for him and concealed the slender blade inside it. “You might need this,” he’d told Connor, handing him the pants. “A hidden weapon.”

“No honor in that,” Connor had said, frowning.

“No honor when you’re dead, either,” his friend had responded.

Connor pulled the simple, deadly weapon, brought it up underhand in his fist, and dove forward. He thrust blindly and hit something in the wild spin of energy. He felt a warm liquid gush over his hand.

And the next moment, he was falling.

Connor landed heavily on top of the Master’s legs as both of them hit the floor.

The knife was buried in the Master’s gut. Connor still held it. He and the Master lay there for a moment, gasping for breath.

Connor put his hand up on the Master’s shoulder, holding him down. The Master spread his arms in surrender.

“You don’t have to die. I don’t want you to die,” Connor said. “We can fix this.”

“Do you think there is anywhere in the world that I can’t reach you if I’m still alive?” A bubble of blood formed at the corner of the Master’s mouth. “Do what you set out to do.”

“I don’t want to!” Connor cried in anguish. He pulled the knife from the Master’s abdomen as he sat back on his heels. Blood welled immediately, and Connor covered the wound with his free hand. “I will call for the Healer. You’ll be all right.”

A ghost of humor lurked in the Master’s remarkable eyes. “I thought I’d have more time, but that’s always how it is. This is your final graduation as my Number One. Finish me, as I finished the Master before me.”

Connor felt his chest tighten and his eyes fill. “Please. There must be some other way.”

“Duality.” The Master said. “You have to take my place, or die trying.” His teeth bared in a bloody grin as he went for Connor’s throat.

Connor stabbed him. And stabbed him and stabbed him and stabbed him again, weeping the while. He collapsed over the Master’s body, giving way to harsh, gasping cries of the deepest agony.

He couldn’t look at the body he lay upon; but he could smell the fresh coppery scent of the Master’s blood. That blood would be on him forever, staining him, soaking into his very soul.

The Master had won.

He was now the Master.

Chapter Forty-Three

Pim Wat

Pim Wat’slips buzzed and tingled, even though she had ingested barely a sip of the tea before the Master dashed the cup away from her mouth. She hurried up the three steps out of the sunken living area, terror making her heart pound as Connor and the Master flew at each other in a confrontation she knew could only end in death for one of them.

---