The crowd fell silent as the two demons faced each other. Slowly, Inth wove the end of his spear in the air, and a magical charge crackled form the point. Valac growled, a deep sound that seemed to rumble over the dirt.
Deep in her pocket, Ursula rolled the silver ring in the palm of her hand. Even though both men were large, the match was clearly unbalanced—a knight in armor versus an unprotected barbarian. Her fingers tightened around the ring.
A magical charge erupted from the pole arm with a loud crack. Just as the bolt of magic was ready to strike Valac, he twisted sideways, dodging the attack.
Snarling, Inth began recharging the pole arm by swinging it in the air. But before he could strike again, Valac closed the gap between them, stepping safely past the tip of the pole arm. He slammed his axe through the pike, hacking off the tip. The crowd roared.
Inth had just been thoroughly emasculated.
Inth’s armor creaked as he drew a sword from its sheath. But Valac slammed his axe into Inth’s shoulder, denting the metal. Inth bellowed in pain, but his armor had saved him from losing his arm.
Inth lifted his sword to swing, but his armor slowed him and he was unable to land a blow. Valac’s ax slammed against his armor again and again. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
Inth spun, trying to keep Valac in sight, but he seemed unstable on his feet. Now, Ursula understood the strategy. Less armor meant greater agility.
Just as she thought all was lost for poor Inth, he whirled in a one-eighty. He slammed his metal-encased fist into Valac’s head. The crack of skull reverberated across the crater.
How did he manage a blow like that?
A burst of cold air struck Ursula’s face. Ah. He used shadow magic.
Valac fell to his knees, blood pouring between his fingers. Inth raised his sword and Ursula closed her eyes.
Bile rose in her throat. I can’t say I was ever overcome by the desire to watch someone’s head split open. By the full-throated roar of the crowd, they did not share her sentiment.
When she opened her eyes again, she stared at Valac’s limp, blue body on the dirt. The sword had cleaved through his skull.
The field of blood was aptly named.
Hothgar’s announced, “Well fought, Inth.”
The knight pulled off his helm. Sweat slicked his platinum hair, and blood oozed from the joints of his armor.
“Thank you,” he said gruffly. Limping slightly, he returned to his spot at the end of the line.
Ursula’s stomach dropped as she stared at Hothgar. The Sword of Nyxobas seemed to stare right at her, his eyes dark as onyx. And above him, Nyxobas’s statue stared into the void, eyes gleaming like cold starlight.
Any moment now, it will be my turn.
Hothgar slammed his mallet into his gong. “And now, a fight that should prove extremely satisfying for us all.” The wind toyed with his silver cape. “Bernajoux the Unvanquished and Ursula the Whore. Can you please step into the field of blood?”
The crowd’s screams pierced her to the bone.
* * *
Instead of a suit of armor, Bernajoux wore a velvet doublet. He neither looked like a medieval knight, nor an unhinged barbarian giant. He’d slicked back his dark hair, and straightened his thin mustache into a perfect line. He carried a narrow sword at his hip.
Ursula’s body hummed with raw nerves. He didn’t look like much of a match, but Bael had described him as a sadist. She took her spot, about six feet from him.
As the sound of her heart pounded in her ears, the gong reverberated through the crater.
Bernajoux drew his blade—a rapier. The thing looked flimsy—a long piece of narrow steel, no thicker than a ruler.
Ursula pulled her katana from its sheath, feeling its comforting weight in her hand.
Turning his body sideways, he pointed the blade at her. He arched an eyebrow. “Are you ready?”
“Of course.”
Bernajoux’s licked his lips. The sight of his long, pointed tongue distracted her.
Bernajoux took the opportunity to strike, springing forward like a venomous serpent. Reflexively, Ursula parried, her sword clanking against his.
“Very nice,” said Bernajoux. “I see you’ve trained in the Shinduro technique.”
So that’s what it’s called. Instead of responding, Ursula kept her full attention on his blade. It glided through the air in a slow serpentine motion, interrupted by an occasional twitch that made her heart jump.
“But have you trained in the style of Calvacabos of Bologna?” he hissed.
She had no idea what he was talking about. But it didn’t matter. He was already lunging again. Pain ripped through her thigh as his blade pierced her muscle. She grunted as he ripped the blade out again.
“Did you like that?” asked Bernajoux. “Did you like feeling the tip inside you? Do you want it a bit deeper?”
Bile rose in her throat. What the fuck?
Bernajoux darted back, the bloodied tip of his sword dancing before her eyes. He’s toying with me. Her leg screamed with pain.
Bernajoux attacked again, and she just barely parried it.