“What the hell was that?”
Everyone has stopped—even the Warriors.
“Ever?” Lyle checks on me.
“The Usher. He’s taking away Aslendrix’s power. Neutralising us.”
“How in Zuns?”
Ascella surges forward with her blade drawn, but at least she’s slower now, and Ten blocks, knocking her back.
Now it’s an even field. No magic. Just weapons.
The fight ensues, with a clash of blades. The Warriors are less certain, and it shows in their movements.
One of them slips past Kalan, forcing me to draw my blade. I swing upwards and bat his attack away before Kalan runs him through.
In that moment, I realise, seeing his body crumple to the ground, that this is the battle in my vision—the vision I shared with Ascella.
My arms drop, and I stagger back, just in time for Ascella to catch sight of me and charge forward.
“You!” she shouts.
“Ever, watch yourself!” Calix yells, unable to extract himself from his own duel.
“I don’t want to do this, Ascella,” I plead to her.
“You are a poison. A Fifth should never have the magic you have.”
“Please.” I raise my blades, drawing the second to defend against each of her blows. They’re fast, but nothing like Crimson, who trained me—she ensured that I would be able to defend myself, and I do.
The pull to use my power on her is right under my skin, waiting, as if it hears the taunts and responds to the challenge she’s setting down. But I refuse to become the thing she’s accusing me of. If I touch her and take her magic, I’m afraid I won’t be able to pull back. The surge when I took Selina’s magic is a dark stain in my memory I don’t wish to relive.
“This is it, you know. The vision I saw when you touched me. I told you you’d bring death, but I swear, I’ll stick you with this blade before you get the chance.”
She swings left then right, not as agile without her powers, but she doesn’t land a hit.
“There’s no way you got this good at fighting without help. You couldn’t even hold a blade when you left,” she roars at me.
“What do you assume I’ve been doing since I’ve been gone—reading? I’ve been fighting for my fucking life!” My patience snaps, and with the next swing, I put a lot more power into it and clip a lock of Ascella’s golden hair.
My magic glistens inside of me, as if growing with my anger, and I am proud of my use of it.
Ascella’s eyes narrow, her face reddening as she rounds on me. Her blade is longer, and she’s faster. It’s only a matter of time before she finds her mark. Calix and Ten were right, and my choice of weapon sucks.
My magic burns inside my chest, desperate to break free of the shackles I’ve placed around it, but still I keep it locked tight. I won’t give in. I won’t return to that dark place.
Ascella pauses, and I glance to my left to see everyone sparring. Only, there are blood and bodies on the ground.
She comes at me again. She raises the sword over her head, and I lift my arm to block the blow, dropping one blade to reinforce my grip. But she knocks the remaining blade out of my hand and then pulls her arms back, ready to stab forward and deliver her winning strike.
I see it happening in slow motion.
Huh.
I’ve been so concerned with not becoming the monster she thinks I am that I’m not going to be able to do any of the things I set out to do.
As the thought flashes through my mind, my blade spins and drops dead, and I’m barged out of the way—a heavy body crashing into me to knock me to the ground.
