Page 83 of Reforging Onyx

Dominic was losing a lot of blood, which didn’t matter in the slightest compared to the knowledge that someone wanted Onyx. Someone had attacked his security team and himself to get his Onyx.

His laugh was ice cold. “Oh, I’m afraid you have it very wrong,” he said conversationally. “I’m afraid all of you dearly need to die.”

He started casting, and a funnel of air grew into a mini tornado in place as he chanted. Projectiles started slicing out from the high winds, shooting quickly in all directions. More and more projectiles shot out, and screams rang out from around them where they dug deep into flesh and bone… and many, many trees.

The winds slowly died down as the casting took its toll on him, and Dominic leaned against the car, desperately trying to keep himself from slumping.

“Impressive,” the voice continued. “We have more. How many do you have?”

“Shit,” Shane hissed. “More of them.”

“If they want me, they won’t risk any large scale attacks,” Onyx said, his voice detached. “I don’t know what those are.”

“Onyx Rayne?” the voice called out. “Stand up. Walk to the south. We’ll take you away from Bancroft. You do want to be free, don’t you?”

“Who are you?” Onyx demanded. “I don’t trust people who don’t identify themselves.”

“We’re friends,” the voice replied. “Introductions can wait, and so can negotiations. Walk away from that car, Onyx.”

Onyx eyed Dominic.

Dominic laughed again. “Ah, Ambrose. I would say that it’s a pleasure to see you again, but I’m afraid that would be a lie, and I do try to avoid lying. Onyx, do not trust anything that he says.” He canted his head, continuing when no further words were immediately forthcoming, “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you, Ambrose? Or your magical touch in the constructs? Creative, that. If foolish. How many did you make? You’ll run out of them eventually.”

“I have enough,” Ambrose told him. “Do you think we wouldn’t come prepared? I know you, Dominic Bancroft.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re very good friends,” Onyx remarked, his eyes tracking the movement of the constructs.

“We are not,” Dominic said coldly. “There are steps to which even I would not lower myself. I have ethics.”

Whether or not Onyx agreed with any of his ethics and morals, he did have them. There were rules that he followed, that all of their kind followed. He was a sadist, certainly. But he knew when to impose limits on himself, and he was not driven purely by his sadism.

“We want your help, Onyx Rayne,” Ambrose continued. “Surely you’d like to get revenge on Dominic and the system that sent you to him?”

“How many?” Dominic asked Shane, who’d shot several more times.

“Twelve that I see,” Shane replied. “Not including the ones that are partially working.”

Dominic hissed. “How long before backup arrives?”

Shane checked his phone. “Fifteen minutes, at least.”

Fuck.

Dominic started to cast the tornado of projectiles again, but pain lanced down his back and the spell faltered.

“We’re not going to last fifteen minutes like this,” Onyx noted in that same flat voice.

“Surrender, and I’ll show you mercy,” Ambrose droned. “We only want the boy, Dominic. Don’t risk your precious hide for a slave.”

“Spare me your lies,” Dominic hissed.

“I can take them.” Onyx turned, looking at Dominic.

Dominic stared at Onyx while he assessed pros and cons. Possibilities and outcomes.

All of Dominic’s default, latent defensive spells were fine, but he was hindered in his casting. He was still losing blood, too. Not enough that he’d be at risk of dying before support arrived, but enough to be a problem, and the limited mobility of his left arm was also an issue.

The constructs would overwhelm them if he couldn’t do anything but hold defensive shields up.