“Too late.”
Torvald forced Graydon’s sword down, before whipping his own up.
Graydon leaned back, the tip of his opponent’s blade whispering past his nose.
As soon as it passed, Graydon straightened and hammered a fist into Torvald’s shoulder, shoving the larger man back.
Torvald responded by kicking Graydon hard enough in the thigh that he felt it even through his synth armor.
Pain blossomed.
That would cause a bruise later.
Torvald came after him again. Relentless. His own defense an afterthought.
It was what made the emperor such a difficult opponent—and a trait Graydon had incorporated into his own style of fighting. Not many would be able to go toe-to-toe with someone who fought as mindlessly as they did.
It was natural to think of defense first. After all, you couldn’t win if you were dead or bleeding out.
But that was what made life fun—the risk and challenge.
Graydon blocked Torvald’s next blow, only to miss dodging the fist the emperor aimed at his eye.
Graydon retaliated by sinking a blow into the spot above Torvald’s kidney.
If the emperor planned to fight dirty, Graydon was happy to do the same.
The look Torvald aimed at Graydon was slightly murderous as he straightened from his hunch.
Graydon grinned at him.
“Very well then, little Storm,” Torvald growled.
After that, the fight was mostly a blur. Graydon lost track of who landed what blow, continuing to fight until his body begged for mercy and he tasted blood in his mouth.
Even then, they refused to end it.
They fought on until neither could lift their blade any longer and the breath burned in their lungs.
Torvald disengaged. “Had enough yet?”
Graydon snarled at the emperor, his arms developing a fine tremble. “I can continue if you can.”
Graydon was lying. Right now, he wasn’t even sure he had enough strength left in his limbs to return his blade to its sheath in his armor.
Calm was beginning to filter into Graydon’s bones. The surplus of energy that had sent him to this room settling.
He no longer yearned to rip everyone else apart.
Graydon considered that progress.
Torvald started to smile. A shift in the air around him caused his smile to fade as his gaze grew distant, his attention turning inward.
It was a look Graydon had seen on his face several times throughout the years. Usually when Torvald communed with the Mea’Ave.
Graydon waited, taking the towel Devon offered and wiping his face.
He winced as the towel brushed across one of the open cuts on his cheekbone.
