Page 76 of The Ascended
That's when we heard it.
Metal on metal. Sharp.
"I was wondering if this would turn violent," Thatcher muttered. And we shared the sentiment. We hadn’t been charged to hunt each other. Not yet, at least. But it didn’t mean someone wouldn’t take the opportunity.
The sounds came from the east, toward the river. We'd been running parallel to it for the last twenty minutes, the sound of water growing stronger.
"Should have stayed in whatever hole they dragged you from," a man snarled.
"Three against one," came a dry, familiar voice. "How very sporting of you."
Marx.
I was running before the name fully formed in my mind. Branches tore at my jacket, roots tried to trip me, but I pushed through it all. Thatcher crashed through the underbrush beside me, both of us following the sounds of combat.
We dropped behind a thick screen of ferns just as the scene came into view.
Marx stood with her back pressed against a tree, blood painting her arms in scarlet ribbons. Three contestants circled her—two men and a woman whose skin seemed to ripple and flow.
Even bleeding, even outnumbered, Marx looked bored.
"Ivene said to cull the dangerous ones early," the woman purred, her voice distorting as her throat shifted between solid and liquid states. "Can't have wildcards making it to the final rounds."
Marx's blade flashed out, but it passed through the woman's torso like she was made of mist. The woman laughed, reforming instantly.
"Cute trick," Marx commented. "Mine's better."
But even as she spoke, one of the men raised his hand. The air around Marx crystallized into diamond-sharp spikes, pressing toward her.
Behind her, a shadow peeled away from one of the men, risingfrom the forest floor and taking its own shape. It rose into a mass of darkness that reached for her throat with too many fingers.
She dodged, twisted, slashed—but there were too many attacks from too many angles. Blood bloomed across her shoulder as a crystal spike found flesh. A tendril of shadow wrapped around her ankle, dragging her off balance.
She was going to die.
Marx, who'd saved my life not a week ago. Who'd faced down a pack of Grief Hounds with nothing but wit and will.
I snarled through the bond.We have to help her.
How?Thatcher's mental voice was tight with the same sick realization.We can't just disable them. That makes us their next targets.
The words tasted rotten in my thoughts.I know.
The crystal spikes pressed closer. One was inches from Marx's throat now, and she'd run out of room to dodge.
Starlight blazed to life in my palms before I'd even consciously called it.
For a heartbeat, I was back on Draknavor's black shore, Xül's voice cutting through dawn mist."A sword of starlight is impressive, but predictable. It needs to be small. Something they won't see coming."
A throwing knife materialized between my fingers.
Thais.Thatcher's urgency pulsed through our connection.Now or never.
I didn't hesitate.
The knife left my hand like a falling star.
I watched the blade spin through shafts of green light, watched the crystal-wielder's eyes go wide as he spotted death blazing towards him. He tried to dodge, but momentum was a cruel mistress.
