Page 54 of Under the Iron Sky

The Arakna struck first. He lunged forward quick as cannon fire, and Malakai was lucky a small lock of hair from atop his head was the only thing he lost when he dodged that spear at the last second.

Treading backward, Malakai held up his hands, each of the colorful tattoos across his body and the muscles in his stomach rippling in the sconce light.

Aeris scoffed. “Doesn’t he own a shirt?”

Emelda loosened a low giggle. “You know he lives to please the crowd.”

A crowd that was on the edge of their seats as he ducked beneath that Arakna’s spear again and again, never attacking, always swerving just at the right time to avoid being impaled, but close enough to send the stands soaring.

“Oops, too slow,” Malakai grinned as the spider lunged for him again and missed. “Come on mate. I’m right ’ere.” He turned to the crowd. “What is he waiting for?”

The crowd laughing at his expense, the Arakna snarled and lunged again.

Malakai pivoted on his toes and spun out of the way, laughing with the audience. “Have you seen this? You’d think a bloke with eight legs would be a bit quicker, wouldn’t you?”

When the crowd’s chortling grew in pitch, the Arakna thrust the spear out again, aiming for Malakai’s thighs. Malakai avoided each blow, twirling and dancing around and between his opponent’s massive legs without a care in the world.

“He needs to be careful,” Emelda said when their friend almost lost an arm to another swipe of that spear. “That Arakna’s head is going to explode if he gets any cockier.”

The words had barely left her lips before the spider changed tactics and slammed the wooden end of his spear into the back of Malakai’s head.

Bone crunched, and the crowd sucked in a breath as he flew across the arena, then cheered when the Arakna pivoted the spear and crept forward for the killing blow. This lot were nothing if not fickle.

Groaning, Malakai bolted into a sitting position and looked around the ring, clutching the back of his skull and swaying like he was on a boat in the middle of a storm. He blinked and shook his head. And seemed to have only just realized that the spider had disappeared, before he lunged from a shadowed corner, the tip of that spear poised straight at Malakai’s heart.

Emelda’s knuckles turned white against the railing.

Malakai lurched out of the way, narrowly avoiding the blade, but right into the path of one of the spider’s many legs. One kick, and he crashed into the arena wall with a crunch.

Blood sprayed up the stone. The crowd cheered when the spider struck again and again. Malakai curled into a ball on the floor and cowered behind a bloodied arm, lips moving quickly.

The Arakna paused his strikes to chuckle. “Praying, boy? There are no Gods left to save you from me.”

The crowd fell silent. And it wasn’t until the half-spider was hovering over Malakai, wasn’t until he leaned down to press that spear against his exposed abdomen, that Malakai said, loud enough for every person in the stands to hear, “The prayers aren’t for me, mate,” before lunging upward and wrapping a hand around the spider’s large, muscled neck.

Blue flames the color of the darkest ocean sparked at his fingertips. The Arakna roared in agony, all eight of his legs now slipping and skittering on the blood soaking the floor as he tried to flee. He might’ve had a chance, if he’d had any other opponent.

The Arakna swung his spear in one last desperate attempt. Malakai knocked it away with his other hand, the weapon shattering when it collided with the stone wall.

The flames grew hotter, brighter—until every person watching had no choice but to cringe away from the fire now blazing in Malakai’s hand.

The Arakna’s scream abruptly cut off, then his headless body fell to the arena floor with a thunk.

Utter, utter silence followed.

Until Malakai picked up the still smoking severed head by its hair and looked up at the crowd, grinning so wide dimples cracked the sides of his face, presented his trophy for all to see, and sang, “Taaaa-daaaa.”

The crowd roared with approval. Cheers. Boos. They rained down upon the pyromancer, better than any coins people had placed in wager, the people completely at his mercy—in exactly six minutes.

Muttering under her breath, Emelda pushed eight silver coins into Ikarus’s waiting hand. “Smug prick.”

Ikarus couldn’t help but smile as he slipped the coins into his trousers. “Better luck next time, sweetheart.”

The fight now over, Malakai jumped into the first line of seats and—much to the delight of many of his adoring fans—began climbing over them so he could get into their private box.

After a brief congratulations, Emelda bid them all goodbye and excused herself to go and mingle upstairs. “Save a dance for me, beautiful,” Malakai called after her.

Aeris watched her leave, his mouth twisted down at the sides.