"Slow," Thalos crooned, mocking and cruel. Laced with droll amusement. "So slow, trench king."
Snarling, Nyx's fins flared wide, pivoting his mass in a wide arc. Momentum carrying him toward the limit of their arena, fast enough to scatter the wall of Pelagorn. His fist flew out, aimed at Thalos' ribs.
But silver fingers locked tight around Nyx's wrist, the Shallow King caught the strike. Claws sinking deep into the flesh, he used the momentum against Nyxarion. Forced the arm out sideways, hyperextended.
Glacial eyes gleaming, Thalos grinned when he said, "All strength," in a low murmur. "No strategy." Claws raking his forearm, Thalos tisked. "Pathetic."
White-hot, searing pain lanced through Nyxarion's blood, but he twisted. Free hand shooting up. Sacrificing the joint to send his claws across Thalos' chest.
Ichor bloomed in the water.
And with a snarl of his own, Thalos released him.
Circling, they separated.
Shoulder throbbing, forearm trailing ribbons of crimson gore, Nyxarion dared to smile. Watching Thalos inspect the damage lacerating his chest. Four parallel slashes bisecting that perfect, silver flesh.
Pressing his palm flat against the wounds, Thalos laughed. Lips tipped in a fond smirk. And then, "First blood. I'll grant you that, at least."
Rolling his shoulder, Nyx tested the wrenched joint as he slipped through the current. Swimming a wide arc around the smaller male. Maintaining his momentum.
Thalos brushed flaking scales away. Sending them glittering into the depths. And then his grin grew cutting and sharp. Gleaming blue eyes slipped to Kore, he said, "Tell me, did you train the wretched little thing to choke on your cock?" he asked, trying to provoke. "Or is that something she knew to do without you? Something she's done…before…"
Feinting, Nyxarion didn't allow him to finish.
He drove right. Cutting through the current with a deliberate flick of his coil, he forced Thalos to dodge.
But he wasn't fast enough.
Claws sinking in deep, tearing through scale and muscle, Nyxarion landed another strike.
A snarl of pain splashed through the sea. A plume of blood perfumed the waters.
Grinning, Nyx didn't release him—his claws sank deeper. Tearing through all that glittered and gleamed.
But Thalos twisted once more, a revolting angle Abyssari just could not reproduce.
The impact that landed next was blinding, enough to snap Nyx's head back as an elbow connected with his temple.
Enough to force his grip to falter, just for a moment.
It was an instant Thalos did not waste.
Hemoved.
Between one blink and the next, Thalos became a weapon forged. Limbs more liquid than the sea itself, claws parting the water, he slashed. Shredding one of Nyxarion's fins.
Roaring, Nyx tried to twist. To answer the savagery with that which had been born to inflict violence.
But even bound, Thalos was faster.
Landing rapid strikes, the Shallow King slipped through the current. Slashing at his ribs and back, scoring a strike across Nyxarion's belly and flank, Thalos was an eddy of pain. Surgical. The blows not meant to kill.
Nyx blocked the next, caught the following slash across his forearm—where it shredded another fin—but the next landed.
Bisecting the dense muscle of his shoulder, the one already tender with trauma, Thalos' claws rent muscle and touched bone. Leaving the water heavy with the scent of a king's blood.
Nyx roared, swinging wild. Claws raking through empty water when Thalos twisted and ducked. Slipping through Nyxarion's guard.
