Page 174 of The King is Dead
To my shock, both men launched into the air towards each other, and the resulting collision rumbled like thunder in a storm.
Then they moved so fast, they blurred.
~ MELEK (seconds earlier) ~
Lern prowled within the circle of our brothers’ wings, smiling. But his eyes were flames of hate. I kept my shoulders low and hands loose at my sides, giving him no indication of the tension tying knots between my shoulder blades. Lern was of a size with me, and a strong fighter. But he’d never developed the self-discipline needed for true success. His emotions ruled his mind.
I would take him. But I’d make him come to me to do it.He’dchallengedme. I wouldn’tlegitimize his claim by being the first to strike.
“MelekfuckingHandras,” the male growled, not even giving me the respect of my rank. “Too cowardly to admit you killed the King, too scared to stand in judgment for it, now flying back after half the contenders have been defeated to try and pick up the spoils?”
I smiled, but didn’t break his fiery gaze. “Our enemies attempted to shackle me. They learned—as you will—that I am not so easily defeated. Imagine my surprise, though, to return and learn two of my officers stood for the crown, yet were too gutless to face each other? I will set both of youin the dirt.”
Lern sneered. “Always so full of words.”
“Do my bigwords confuse you? I’ll speak slower.”
A wave of chortles rippled through the nearby Neph, some slapping their friends’ chests, others widening eyes and waiting to see how Lern would respond.
The male stared murder at me, still pacing. “Fetch-fucker,” he seethed.
“Did your fatherwanta pig for your mother, or was her ass just so round he couldn’t tell the diff—”
Lern roared and launched for me, his wings snapping wide then back to push him into the air and over me—an advantage, if he could hold the position.
But I’d been anticipating the first strike and waited to be certain of his trajectory.
The moment we were both in flight, every move and counter-move would require adjustment, and those split-second shifts of a wing could be the difference between life and death.
When he came for me, roaring and arms outstretched, hands clawed for my eyes—because a blinded foe was useless in the air—it was an attempt to push me off my center of gravity. He sought to force me into a back-flap-and-turn which would give him the higher position in the air.
No chance.
As he flowed into the air over my head, I smiled and shot straight up, the heel of one hand braced and aimed straight for his chin, allowing myself into that dangerous circle of his arms—but only as long as it took to slam his lower jaw closed so hard his teeth cracked, his head snapped back, shifting his balance, and he grunted.
His eyes squeezed tight against the pain as our bodies collided and the clash cracked like thunder in the sky. But I’d already shaken his senses with that spine-shuddering blow, and he was forced to turn away and give ground—or rather, air.
A cheer went up from the crowd as I kept my wings still until gravity took me in its hands again, then I flapped as lazily as I could to hold my position.
Lern shook his head as he circled once, growling. Then with one glance at our audience below, he closed his wings and dove.
Combat in flight was ninety percent instinct, and ten percent experience. Surrendering to my God-given instincts, I let myself tip back, wings flat to the ground, drawing my knees towards my chest as he came for me, turning my entire body at the last possible second to kick him in the chest—a move that required a full-body somersault in the air—and divert his path to my right.
He snarled and grabbed for my foot, but I was already twisting again, flapping, coming back to upright, wings extended to catch the air. His clawed hands caught on nothing but empty air and theforce of his attack kept him turning in sync with me, until our positions reversed.
He was no fool, and no weakling. He adjusted quickly, wings snapping open, then half-closed until he’d stayed the turn, but now I was the one diving from above.
I folded my wings and dropped. He expected me to go for his eyes, anticipated it and flapped once to shift his position at the final second—but this wasn’t my first challenge, either. As he ducked his head to protect his eyes and fanned his wings, preparing to turn and evade me, I snapped my hand back towards my shoulder, rejecting the expected attempt for his eyes, and instead driving down on him with my elbow.
He’d turned his head slightly to protect his eyes, so missed my change in attack—a half-second later I dropped like a stone, my elbow glancing off his head, but slamming into his shoulder.
I felt something give before I’d slipped below him in the air and was forced to flip and turn myself, flapping to regain height, rising to his left and pushing away to get space.
I needed to see what kind of damage I’d done.
When we were twenty feet apart, I turned and let my feet drop, flapping only enough to keep myself hovering, to watch and assess… and then smile.
He was trying not to show it, but the tilted and slightly lowered arm gave him away.
