Page 77 of Until the End of Ever
“So, Abrax. Are you going to be a coward?” I taunted, smirking as I resized the dark leather mask before placing it on my face. “Or are you prepared to bleed?” I continued, my voice metallic, lower, darker, and amplified.
Traditionally, the masks had one major function: keeping our faces pretty. Mine doubled as a magical restraint, designed to ensure I never used my lethal ability. Friendly duels weren’t supposed to end with a fellow founder’s corpse. The leather at the neck zapped me when I started to unconsciously sap the energy of my opponent.
I was fully capable of beating the dick’s ass without that power.
Abrax, never wise enough to know better, leapt from the balcony of his box onto the platform, his own golden mask in place.
My mother stood in her box, regal as ever. “You know the rules,” she called.
“There are none,” Abrax and I echoed in sync.
“You know the stakes.”
“Our honor!”
“Your forfeit your right to mercy until you yield.”
Abrax and I both bowed to her, first, and then to each other.
Usually, I liked to start on the defense, let the idiots exhaust themselves, and observe their technique for the first minute or so. But he’d insulted Kleos.
I pounced.
32
KLEOS
Iwould like to pretend I was not turned on by watching two masked, unbearably fit men in tailored clothing beat each other up by way of spells and fists, but I was only human. Ish. Humanish.
“Ouch!” Ronan said with a chuckle, as the golden-masked, mocha-skinned man in a shining white tailcoat gathered another ball of sunlight in his hand, throwing it right at Lucian’s face.
Sun, he’d soon noticed, was the only one of his spells that seemed to bother Lucian. It blinded him and fucked with his balance and focus. Taking advantage of the momentary confusion, Abrax punched Lucian twice.
I swatted Ronan’s arm. “Whose side are you on? Traitor.”
“Well, clearly, Luce’s, you violent thing. But it’s nice to see him getting punched anyway.”
I kicked him this time.
“All right, all right. We’re firmly team Lucian.”
In the meantime, he’d grabbed Abrax fist and made him punch himself, before twisting his arm behind his back, locking it.
Blue was the color Lucian’s learned magic took, so I knew whatever spell he was working with his free hand, right at thelevel of Abrax’s face, wasn’t his lethal touch, but Abrax screamed bloody murder anyway, twisting his own shoulder to get away from Lucian.
He tried his sun trick again, but before the golden magic in his palm was much bigger than a walnut, Lucian had leapt, knee first, hitting his face with a bone-crushing sound we all winced at.
Black blood pooled out of the mask, marring the white tux, and the golden shirt beneath.
“Damn.” A guy I didn’t know whistled to my left.
I glanced at him, so he explained, “Those masks they wear are basically armor. Stronger than any metal, coated with protecting spells. It’s not that easy to hit the face. Abrax’s punches probably didn’t even feel like a little slap, but if Lucian drew blood? Abrax felt that.”
The poor bleeding guy took two awkward steps back, obviously off-balance, and a magnanimous Lucian took the time to turn toward the crowd, holding his hands up to give his opponent a moment of reprieve.
We all clapped, screaming his name, me most of all.
Meanwhile Abrax believed that was the perfect time to scream and launch himself at Lucian, crackling magic—lightning?—aimed right at him.
