I leap over one spike and land badly, my boot skidding hard across the slick surface.
Serrik appears in front of me and drives his fist into my jaw.
My vision flashes white.
The next blow catches my ribs. The next my shoulder. Frost blooms wherever he strikes, spreading numbness through flesh and muscle alike until my entire left side feels sluggish.
I try to reciprocate, but it’s like my brain, too, has become frozen. I am incapable of any proper thoughts—any strategies.
We collide in a flurry of close-range strikes, but every exchange favors him. His movements are efficient and disciplined. He’s clearly the more experienced fighter.
My strikes are stronger, perhaps, but less refined. Each time I force him back, he uses the terrain to recover, sliding over the ice while I stumble and fight for footing.
A kick takes my knee out from under me and I drop down. Then his elbow crashes into the back of my neck and sends me sprawling across the frozen ground.
Somewhere beyond the barrier, I hear the roar of the crowd chanting Serrik’s name and urging him to finish the job fast.
Serrik circles me slowly. Frost gathers over his hands in curling ribbons. “This is the one who escaped the Culling?” he calls loudly enough for the audience to hear. “I expected more.”
Laughter erupts from somewhere in the stands.
I push myself upright, spitting blood onto the ice.
He charges at me again.
This time I do not meet him directly.
I retreat.
He smiles, sensing weakness, and presses harder—driving me backward through the maze of ice formations he created, each strike forcing me farther into the terrain he controls.
Then I understand. Every blow is thought-out. His aim is not to deliver damage with hand-to-hand combat, but to push me towards the areas where his control over the environment is strongest.
In that case, I must shift the dynamic and uncover where he isleaststrong. Kind of hard to do when the entire arena is a wonderland for his domain.
As he lunges again, I duck low and slam both palms into the nearest frozen spire. My shadows surge outward at the ice.
Darkness races through the cracks and seams in the frozen structure, seeping into every fracture hidden beneath its glossy surface.
Serrik frowns as he tries to understand what’s happening.
Too late!
I wrench downward with everything I have and hold my breath, hoping my idea comes to fruition.
Two tense seconds later, the entire formation shatters.
A thunderous crack splits the arena as the spire explodes apart, sending massive chunks of ice crashing into the battlefield.
Serrik leaps back to avoid the collapse, but the destruction tears through his carefully constructed terrain, obliterating half the pathways he had built and leaving the field fractured and uneven.
For the first time, he falters.
I smirk.Finally!
I don’t give him time to regroup as I lunge for him.
He barely gets his guard up before I crash into him, driving my shoulder into his chest hard enough to send us both skidding over shattered ice. My fist slams into his face. Again and again. Somehow, he manages to twist away and from his palm, a lance of frost shoots forward into my chest.
