Chapter 109: A fight without a name
The clearing had become a battlefield in ruin. Trees lay splintered across the ground, roots torn from the earth, and the air was thick with the scent of scorched bark and blood. Smoke drifted lazily through the broken canopy, curling around the four figures still locked in combat.
Amari stood at the center, his coat torn and soaked through, the fabric clinging to his ribs where the gauntlet had struck him earlier. His mask—black, gold-eyed, and jagged across the cheek—remained fixed in place, unreadable. His sword hung low in his grip, the blade streaked with blood and dirt, but his stance was still solid. Wounded, yes. Slowing, maybe. But not broken.
The three men surrounding him were in no better shape.
The spear wielder’s leg bled freely from a deep cut, and his grip on the haft had grown tight and desperate. The blink dancer’s left arm hung limp at his side, his breathing shallow, his blinks growing erratic. The gauntlet fighter’s armor was cracked along the back, and his shoulders rose and fell with labored effort, each breath a struggle.
None of them spoke. There was no need. The fight had passed the point of words.
The spear wielder moved first, lunging with a wide sweep of his weapon. A gust of compressed air followed the arc, sharp enough to strip bark from the trees behind Amari. But Amari had already stepped inside the swing, letting the wind shear past his shoulder. He brought his blade up in a tight slash across the man’s thigh, drawing another line of blood before retreating just beyond reach.
The blink dancer flickered into view behind him, aiming a short blade at Amari’s exposed side. But Amari didn’t turn. He pivoted on his heel, catching the strike with the flat of his sword, then slammed the hilt into the man’s jaw. The dancer blinked away mid-fall, reappearing several feet back, stumbling to one knee.
Before Amari could recover, the ground beneath him buckled. The gauntlet fighter had slammed both fists into the soil, triggering a Tremor Pulse that cracked the earth in a jagged line. Amari staggered, his footing thrown off just long enough for the gauntlet to crash into his ribs.
Pain flared through his side. He gritted his teeth and twisted with the blow, using the momentum to roll away. He came up low, slashing across the gauntlet fighter’s shin, then rose into a spinning elbow that caught the man in the ribs. The fighter grunted and stumbled back, but didn’t fall.
They reset again, circling. All of them bleeding. All of them breathing hard. The dancer blinked in and out of view, trying to mask his limp. The spear wielder dragged his foot slightly now, but still kept his weapon raised. The gauntlet fighter’s glow had dimmed, but his fists remained clenched, ready.