Hothgar gripped his gong. “For the next battle, Inth of Alboth versus Bael the Fallen.” He slammed the mallet into the gong with a thunderous clang.
Immediately, Inth began to charge up his weapon, twisting the spearhead in a complicated pattern. Bael stood opposite him, his body perfectly still, sword held casually.
Inth’s pike sparked with dark magic. He swung it in a sharp arc, blasting magic from the tip. But Bael effortlessly sidestepped, holding his sword loosely at his side.
Inth unleashed another bolt. Again, Bael sidestepped. Didn’t break a sweat, nor use shadow magic. Didn’t even bother to wear armor. Cocky bastard. She was beginning to understand why he’d been so confident before the battle.
Worse, a growing certainty bloomed in her mind. The vision of herself lying against the dirt, Bael’s knife pressed against her heart.
It wasn’t just a fear. It was a premonition.
Inth’s pole arm glowed white-hot, and he took a tentative step toward Bael. Meanwhile, Bael stood still as the statue of Nyxobas
Ursula had learned that the stiller Bael’s body, the more deadly his thoughts.
When the knight lunged, thrusting his blade at Bael’s chest, Bael leapt into the air. Wisps of shadow magic trailed behind him as he cleared the tip of the pole arm. He soared over Inth’s head, gripping his sword with the blade’s tip pointing down. With a single, vicious thrust, he plunged it through the top of the knight’s helm.
Bael landed gracefully on the sand. As Inth crumpled, Bael wrenched his blade from the knight’s skull with a sickening crunch of bone.
The oneiroi ran onto the field of blood to drag the body away, and the crowd booed. Another execution.
As with Zoth, the entire fight had lasted only seconds. Bael turned, stalking back to his spot at the edge of the field of blood. Again, his glacial gaze flicked to her for just a moment, his face devoid of emotion.
Her knees were going weak. This was it—she had to defeat two more demons before she could live. The Gray Ghost—a reanimated corpse.
And Bael.
“Congratulations, Bael, on reaching the final duel,” said Hothgar, his voice quavering. Was that fear? If Bael were going to resume his position as the Sword of Nyxobas, Hothgar had every reason to be afraid. Bael’s vengeance against those who had wronged him would be swift and ruthless.
“Emerazel’s whore will now fight the Gray Ghost on the field of blood. The winner of this round will fight Bael the Fallen.”
Ursula’s heart pounded like a battle drum, her blood pumping hard as she stepped into the center of the arena.
The Gray Ghost prowled forward, taking his spot across from her.
Hothgar sounded the gong, and her nerves blazed with anticipation.
She gripped her katana, keeping her gaze on her opponent. Her stomach throbbed where she’d been stabbed, but otherwise it seemed to be fully healed.
She’d seen the Gray Ghost fight when he’d first announced his participation in the tournament. She’d seen him slay five demons in the melee, and not one of them had touched him.
And yet, she’d also seen Bael revive him in the mushroom forest. So what the hell had happened there?
The wind toyed with the gray scarf wrapped around the Ghost’s face and he stood, still as a corpse. Which, perhaps, he was.
When she’d seen him fight before, every movement had been precise, like he was thinking multiple steps ahead of his adversary. Just like Bael, he’d waited for his opponents to attack first, then countered.
Maybe she could throw him off.
Hothgar’s voice boomed over the field of blood. “The fight is supposed to begin.” He sounded the gong again.
The Gray Ghost raised his blades. Pearly light sparked off them, but he didn’t move.
Ursula lifted her katana, her palms sweating. Any minute now.
The icy lunar wind rippled over her skin, and she could hear her blood pounding in her ears.
Maybe I can goad him into attacking.
She pointed her blade at his chest, slowly approaching. When she got within striking distance, he stepped back. She followed him, but he stayed just out of range.
She feinted, and he immediately parried—one of his blades flashing up to deflect hers, metal sparking against metal. Her sword vibrated in her grip.
For a corpse, he was strong. Very strong.
She backed away. Maybe he will come after me now. Instead, he simply stood there waiting. She feinted again, and he parried, their blades clashing.
“Why won’t you fight me?” said Ursula.
The Gray Ghost simply watched her from behind his scarf. She’d seen how he’d baited Vepar into tiring himself out. Only when his opponent was thoroughly exhausted did he attack—diving for the tendons behind his ankles to immobilize him.
A brilliant thought sparked in her mind—what if she faked fatigue?
She feinted again. When he parried, she immediately followed up with another strike. To conserve strength, she didn’t attack with full velocity, but with each strike, she allowed herself to be a little wilder.