‘You challenge my maker, and so, you challenge me!’ I called out, causing Sammael to spin in my direction. ‘If you wish to fight him, you must first defeat me.’ I pulled my extra weapons – my arrows and thigh dagger – from their sheaths and threw them to the side, keeping just my sword that matched his.
The statuesque angels did not react to my intrusion. Sammael, however, while clearly unsurprised to see me, was caught off-guard by my proclamation.
‘You cannot fight me,’ he said, laughing loudly. ‘I have my greater power here. I am unstoppable.’
I flexed my grip on the hilt of my sword and used my will to change our surroundings into a full oval arena with a hard dirt ground, Roman style.
I shrugged. ‘I have great power here, too.’ I gave him a taunting smile, knowing that this would be the best way to lure him into engaging with me.
‘Are you going to let the human fight for you?’ he questioned my maker. ‘Are you so pathetic?’
My angel maker tilted his head, unperturbed. ‘She is a representation of me. I see no reason why not. If you cannot defeat her, you certainly should have no right to challenge me.’ But when his eyes swung briefly to mine, I glimpsed the sadness and I understood then that, though my angel maker was entirely angel – emotionless and aloof to matters of the heart – in his own way, he cared for me.
Sammael responded by turning his sword and leaping in my direction. Laws of gravity and force did not work the same way in this place and as much as I was able to bend this piece of the universe to my will, it was quickly apparent that Sammael could control elements of it as well.
I spun, keeping myself grounded, remaining tactical as all of my training – first with Lincoln, then Griffin, Nyla, Rainer and Gray – came to my aid. Our swords clashed with such ferocity that sparks flew each time they collided.
As Sammael reared his sword back to strike at my side, I raised mine to meet it and, risking a one-handed hold, took the opportunity to strike out with my free hand, hitting him hard across the face.
He blinked from shock and stumbled back. I didn’t delay, moving forward and kicking out in an attempt to disarm him. He dodged my efforts and instead managed to slice his sword at my arm, causing a deep gash just below my shoulder.
I winced, staggering to the side. I could feel Lincoln’s power surging through me, giving me strength even though our healing connection was not working.
Our swords rose again. Sammael’s technique was flawless as little by little I lost momentum and he gained the upper hand. When his blade sliced into my thigh I cried out, falling to one knee before I could steady myself. He didn’t hesitate to pounce, kicking me so hard across my face I first flung back then forward onto all fours as blood flowed from my mouth and I spat teeth onto the ground.
I could feel Lincoln pacing the arena and the army of angels watching impassively while Sammael steadily beat me to death. I tried to get back onto my feet, but he kicked the side of my head with his booted foot.
And he laughed. The laugh of madness.
Determined, I staggered back to my feet, somehow still gripping my sword. I parried a few strikes and with all my remaining strength I swung out, my blade skimming his chest but little else. Sammael, enraged by the small incision I’d made, stormed forward in response. His sword collided with mine; the weight was like a mountain and when he drew back for another strike I knew my reaction was too slow.
The blade burned its way through my stomach and my scream was bloodcurdling.
I fell.
He had bettered me. Life was pouring out of me, my mind drifting towards an inevitable end. And I was tortured to realise there was so much I had yet to do. So many things that had been put on hold. Strangely, in that moment as I struggled to find air to fill my failing lungs, I wished for a canvas, for one more chance to paint and see the world in colour.
‘GET. UP!’
His voice was so strong that even in my haze, it was loud and fearsome.
‘GET. UP. NOW, DAMN IT!’ Lincoln bellowed.
And then I felt it through our connection. It rocked me to my core and beyond.
Decima had told me I could not win against Sammael if I fought with no heart. She was right. And Lincoln was showing that as he pushed everything we were, are, into me. Our strength, our purpose, our friendship, our loyalty, our passion, our loss, and most of all our love. And I realised that it couldn’t be about risking it all.
That was the whole point.
It was about fighting to keep it.
Fighting for our life together, our love to go on. Fighting for our right to free will. To be human. To be flawed. To be fragile and foolhardy. To have the chance to make every mistake but then somehow learn to get it right.