The bleeding swordsman snarled and pressed his sword to my throat.
Cold steel bit against my skin.
One wrong move and I was dead.
I hooked my foot behind his leg and rolled, flipping him off me. His sword was carved into my neck in the process.
How deep? I’d find out soon enough—either through victory or death.
From the sidelines, Costa and Balthazar’s voices rang out like war drums.
“Do it, Lucas! Marco! Finish him! Two against one—take him down!” Costa bellowed.
“If you don’t,” Balthazar roared, “I will.”
Lucas’ grip on his sword slackened as I crushed his wrist beneath my weight. Blood seeped from the wound on his neck, his breaths coming in sluggish gulps. The life was draining out of him.
His glassy eyes met mine.
I slit his throat, finishing what I started.
The body crumpled.
Marco lunged, grabbing for the dead man’s sword.
I shot to my feet, roaring as I charged him.
Marco spun and lashed out with a powerful kick. His boot slammed against my hand like a sledgehammer, sending my knife flying.
The blade whirled through the air, smashed against the wall, and then dropped, burying itself deep into the wooden floor.
I was left with only my pocketknife.
Marco, now wielding a massive blade, grinned.
A chill slithered down my spine.
We circled each other, eyes locked, searching for the slightest weakness.
Sweat beaded on my forehead, blood trickling down the front of my shirt from the gash on my neck.
I ignored it.
Focus. Breathe. Wait for the moment.
Marco lunged, his blade slicing toward me with murderous intent.
I dove to the side, barely evading his attack, and slashed out with my knife.
My blade carved a deep gash across his arm.
Marco bellowed, stumbling back, eyes burning with rage. He advanced again, relentless, stabbing and jabbing with brutal precision.
I twisted and dodged, barely staying out of reach.
His attacks were ruthless and fast.
I needed an opening.
