“Twenty-five deaths!” Hothgar boomed.
Still, Romulus and Remus pressed their assault. Two against one isn’t exactly a fair fight. “Hey!” she shouted. “Wolf-boy. Right here.”
Remus turned, snarling. “You disgust me, dog. I will eat your flesh off your bones.”
She tried to ignore her body’s trembling. He was maybe four times her size. Speed was her greatest asset here.
He swung for her, and she ducked. They circled each other, swords glinting in the starlight. Remus lunged for her, and she dodged back, but not fast enough. His blade ripped through her shoulder. The blazing pain threw her off balance, and she faltered.
Fight, Ursula.
As Remus prepared to strike again, she steadied herself, blocking his attack. Somehow, the surge of adrenaline flooding her system washed the pain away. The air filled with the sound of her sword clashing against Remus’s. The bastard had the advantage of a much longer reach, and her muscles burned as she struggled to keep up with the fight.
And yet, as she fought him, a strange surety filled her. It was almost as though liquid shadow flowed through her muscles, making her movements fluid. Time seemed to slow down. And if she concentrated, she could predict what his next moves would be, could easily block them. Strike from the left. Dodge. Thrust.
If she moved in closer to him, he wouldn’t be able to strike her with accuracy—not with his giant arms. In fact, he wasn’t used to fighting someone her size.
He swung for her in a giant arc, and she ducked. He’d been pressing her and would expect her to dodge back. Instead, she leapt in closer. Unable to strike her with his sword, he slammed a meaty fist into her head. Her vision went dark.
Only the darkness will save you.
Yet even as her vision darkened, some ancient part of her brain took over, fighting for survival. She swung her sword, somehow certain of her mark.
And when her vision cleared again, she stared at her blade, plunged clean through Remus’s neck. She gripped her sword, kicking him in the chest to pull her blade out.
Hothgar shouted, “Thirty-one!”
Three kills left.
Before she could catch a glimpse of Bael, a sharp blast of pain ripped through her shoulders, knocking her off balance. She landed hard on the arena floor, bits of gravel biting into her palms. If Cera hadn’t made her the reinforced leather jacket, she’d be dead by now. Even so, if they kept striking at her shoulders, she wouldn’t be able to hold a weapon.
Her heart thundering, she grasped for her sword. Her fingers gripped the hilt, and she immediately swung from the ground at her attacker. Her sword found its mark in a leg, cutting into flesh and bone. Her opponent, wielding a giant scythe, screamed. He swung for her with his blade, she rolled out of range, but not before the tip of his blade carved a furrow in her back.
In an instant, she was on her feet, staring at the reaper. I have you. She swung her katana in a wide arc, her steel cutting through the flesh and bone in his neck. The reaper’s head rolled over the crater’s floor, and his body toppled to the ground. A strange thrill rippled through her body. Victory.
“Thirty-two!” boomed Hothgar.
Her eyes flicked to Bael. He was still fighting. In hand-to-hand combat with Romulus.
The giant roared, “My brother has been slain!” Bael had dropped his sword. In its stead, he used the obsidian blade. My blade. Bael’s movements were so fast, she could hardly track them. Starlight shone off the black rock, flashing in his hand. Even without the use of his magic, Bael’s skill was breathtaking.
With a vicious strike, he ducked and stabbed Romulus in the groin. The demon shrieked. When Romulus doubled over, Bael slashed open his throat with a casual flick of his wrist, then rose.
“Thirty-three deaths!” shouted Hothgar.
Ursula’s heart raced. One more.
She turned slowly, gripping her blood-stained sword, ready to slay. A bestial shriek curdled her stomach, and she turned to find Massu, burying his teeth into the back of a demon’s neck. With an audible crunch, he snapped the demon’s spine.
Hothgar’s voice sounded like a thunderclap. “Thirty-four. The melee has ended!”
Ursula’s entire body shook, and she let out a long, slow breath. Nausea welled in her stomach, and she hunched over, trying not to vomit. I can’t believe I made it. Her body shrieked in agony where the blades had ripped her shoulders.
Soaked in blood, Bael crossed to her, his expression grim. He held the blood-soaked dagger before him. “Where did you get this?” he asked.
She tightened her lips. She was pretty sure a demon like him could tell when you were lying, but she wasn’t about to get Cera in trouble, either. “I’m not answering that. I’m pleading the sixth...eighth...whatever Americans call it.”
He rolled the hilt in his hands, inspecting it, before fixing her with one of his piercing glares. “The oneiroi are not your friends.” A hint of steel laced his voice. “I hope, after what you just saw, you understand that.”