Still, in here he is only flesh and blood, no magic.
“He issued a challenge,” I mutter, shedding the top half of my coveralls and tying the arms around my waist. “So what else am I going to do but fight? Go look after the Princess.”
“Layla and Jensen have her, she’s good. You’re the one who needs me right now.” He puts a hand on my shoulder.
Heinz holds out his arms and raises his voice, a cruel, hungry glint in his eyes. “A challenge for Digger boss has been issued and will go ahead. To the yield, blackout, or the grave.Et kütt wie et kütt.”
The yard becomes a sea of noise, but the space between me and this Frenchman feels eerily quiet, as if the air itself is thickening into something toxic. “If this goes south, look after Aurora, Clay. This guy wants her.”
“Fuck. Then things better not go south, boss.”
“No shit.” My muscles are coiled, and my pulse stays steady despite the rush of adrenaline.
A challenge for Boss has officially been laid down. There is no path now apart from forward.
Heinz lets out a sharp whistle. “Contenders…fight!”
I move first.
I’ve spent years in the pits of Havengard; I’ve known how to end a man with a single, well-placed blow since I was twelve. I launch a heavy cross aimed right at his flawless jaw, expecting him to dodge or parry.
He does neither. He flows.
It’s the only way to describe it. He moves with a liquid, boneless movement that shouldn’t be possible in a yard where the Null-Wards make your limbs feel like they’re made of lead.
I miss by a hair, and as he slips past my guard, he whispers, “Trop lent, espèce de plouc.”
The fucker just called me a slow hick.
I pivot, throwing a low kick to find his center of gravity, but he’s already gone. He’s dancing around me, making it look like a fair,athletic contest to the spectators on the bleachers, but up close, the reality is terrifying.
Every time he gets within a foot of me, a wave of icy cold washes over my skin. It’s not just the fear of losing; it’s a physical presence, a creeping numbness. My vision blurs at the edges, turning gray and hazy. My lungs burn as if the very oxygen in the yard has been replaced with something toxic.
What the fuck is happening?
Why does he look stronger, faster, and more vital with every passing second while I feel like I’m drowning.
When our arms finally lock in a clinch, I look into those black eyes. They aren’t just dark. They are endless. The sunlight doesn’t reflect off them; it gets swallowed, as if his pupils are twin abysses.
“You… you’re using magic,” I choke out, my voice sounding thin and distant.
When he smiles, for a split second his pupils seem to turn to slits. “Impossible,” he murmurs, his breath smelling minty fresh. “There is no magic here, Gravedigger. Only nature.”
He strikes. It’s a palm-heel to my solar plexus, delivered with a force that feels like a battering ram. The impact doesn’t just knock the wind out of me; it feels like a needle of pure ice driven straight into my central nervous system.
The world tilts. My lungs seize, refusing to pull in any air. I see the pale gray sky and hear a scream—Rory—but I can’t move my arms. I can’t even blink.
The poison, the fear, the darkness… It’s all-consuming.
As the darkness rushes in, the last thing I see is François de Vaux standing over me. He looks down with the bored curiosity of a predator that’s already moving on to its next kill. He doesn’t have a single scratch on him. Not a bead of sweat.
I try to reach for the shiv in my waistband, one last desperate gamble for my block, for her, but my fingers are dead weights.The Bossman of the Diggers is gone before his head even hits the dirt.
And everything goes black.
18. FRANCOIS
Iwatch the great, hulking Digger beast crumple onto the gravel.
