Chapter 42 Azahara #2
It was pure rage that had gotten into her. Azahara was hurting, and she would make sure everyone else felt her pain in any way she could. Fighting these boys, who thought they were gods among men, was a good start.
Another stepped up to her, and she grinned, baring her teeth. “Excellent.”
Not a single one of the several dozen who had stepped up one by one touched her. She had taken each of them seriously, even if they hadn’t done the same to her. One even approached laughing, saying they had only held back because she was a beautiful female they didn’t want to mark.
Azahara made sure to leave them with a scar of their own to remember her by.
The crowd around them had become one that could fill an amphitheater if given the space, and it was no longer just the Order that surrounded them.
The White Cloaks had joined, and they took her side without hesitation.
Chanting things like “Kick their asses!” “That’s exactly what they deserve!
” “Prove who the alpha is!” Not that she had needed the encouragement, it had been appreciated.
Illyan had been her most prominent cheerleader, nearly slipping each time she took someone down in their excitement. They were on the verge of singing when she gave them a look to settle it down and bring it down a few beats.
Azahara kept a hardened expression on her face, never breaking a smile or making a smart remark, even if they gave her no such respect.
“What is going on here!?” She would know that gritty, annoying voice anywhere.
As General Olaniyan shoved through the onlookers, his eyes fell upon several dozen of his men lying on the floor or covered in mud, bruises, or blood.
Since the last time she had seen him, it appeared as though he had cleaned up a bit, with the gray hair even more prominent now.
She wondered if it was the stress of the oncoming battle, or the fear that his men would fail.
His puffed-out chest, accompanied by this little mouse head, was still the same.
When his eyes landed on her, she relaxed her shoulders, figuring that her fun was now over.
“What the hell—who did this?” Every pair of eyes narrowed in on Azahara, drawing an aghast expression from her.
She outstretched her arms, shrugged her shoulders, and bowed slightly. Not a single drop of sweat clung to her, and she knew that only made him more furious, which pleased her enough to make her crack a smile.
As she was turning to leave, she said, “Should’ve trained your boys not to have such inflated heads.”
Olaniyan whistled at her. “Child’s play. What was the wager?”
Of course. She thought. He knew there would be a wager. Her eyes narrowed as she turned back to him. He was at least the height of Kaed, if not taller, with broad shoulders and, unlike his men, wore the signature armor of the Order.
“Whatever their hearts desired.”
“With you?”
What could he possibly want with me? She nodded, and he smiled. “Come then. I’ll show you how a real man fights.” Something about a man likely to have been her father’s age when he passed, wanting to do whatever to her, disgusted her more than his boy soldiers. It only fueled her fire.
With a wide, unfriendly smile, she planted her feet back into position and assumed her fighting stance.
“Practice swords; hand-to-hand combat is outdated.” He moved towards the equipment, picked up two swords, and tossed the wooden material to her. Catching it, she spun it in her hand and stood ready.
She was much better with a dagger, but with the help of Zhal, she had learned how to use her body and agility at least to win if it came to a sword fight.
Inhaling steadily, she observed his charge.
He was a substantial man, which made him somewhat sluggish, yet still faster than his men.
Without direction, her body moved on instinct alone.
She sidestepped the downward swing of the wooden sword, her own clashing against it to give her momentum out of the way.
He whipped his head towards her as she swung upwards, attempting to cut at his throat. She figured because he knew it was a play sword, he put his arm up and stopped its advance.
Azahara pulled her eyebrows together, saying, “Looks like you lost an arm.”
“Don’t need it anyways.” With a quick jab, which she clearly hadn’t expected, his elbow met her nose.
It caused her to stumble back, her free hand brushing across her lips, which now had blood spilling from her nose, drawing a line down her neck.
There were boos and screams of a cheap shot from her crowd. If that had been a real sword, he wouldn’t have been able to attack her that way.
The feeling of her heart racing drove her anger, and she felt it pouring out of her. The sense of fire at her fingertips and lightning in her feet. It must have shown on her face because he laughed and looked around him.
“Typical woman. Allowing her emotions to get the better of her.” He stepped back before charging at her again, his hands on the wooden sword and swinging it at an angle, looking to hit her at her hip.
A single step to the side gave her the right amount of arch to jump up and flip over his attack like a leaf in the wind. When she landed, her foot hooked around his ankle, finding him off balance and pulling it from under him.
Olaniyan let out a grumbling sound and caught himself with his other hand. She was right in his face with the tip of her sword, mere inches from his widened eye.
He was breathing heavily, as was she. Her foot was pressed against his groin, and she fought a smile.
She couldn’t hear the cheers and hollering because, just as they began to celebrate, the sound of metal against a sheath took precedence in her senses. With fervor, she kicked off him as he swung the long, metal sword past her face.
Coming to a standing position, barely managing to keep her footing, she moved several steps back from him.
Olaniyan stood, his hands gripping the hilt of his very real sword. A mixture of emotions was evident around her, some showing anger and others eagerness.
She should have run.
She should have asked for a sword.
Instead, she stared deep into his dirt-brown eyes and flicked the wooden sword between her hands. “Come on!” Her voice was filled with abhorrence and contempt, which worked in making the General attack.
Releasing the breath she had been holding, she watched as he swung his sword down at her again. Side-stepping, she popped him in the face with the wooden sword and quickly spun several feet back just as he tried again to cut her.
Her boots dug into the now very disturbed ground, making movement increasingly trickier.
Thankfully, it was also difficult for Olaniyan.
Watching him stumble through the mud allowed her to swing up another kick, meeting the blade at its side and sending his arm flying in the other direction.
While he still held the sword, Azahara jumped and swung down so hard that the wooden sword splintered and shattered on the impact of his head.
As she landed, she spun, and with full force, she slammed the sword’s hilt against his nose.
Any attack of that caliber with a real sword would have brought anyone down, especially a human. Unfortunately, because of the nature of it being a practice sword, it barely did any damage.
Just as she was moving away, he grabbed hold of her wrist with force, pulled her back roughly against his chest, and pressed his forearm against her throat as he lifted her off the ground.
She could hear people around her calling for him to stop and threatening retaliation if he continued. It didn’t seem to slow his advances as he brought the sword up and closer to her throat.
Azahara kicked her legs up, wrapped them around his forearm that held the deadly weapon, and pulled it away with all her might.
The strength in his arms was equivalent to that of her legs, and they both fought with all they could give.
The problem was his hold on her throat was causing a lack of oxygen to her lungs and brain.
“Sunshine, on your left.” Her eyes shot in that direction just as a dagger was thrown. As it spun towards her, she lifted her hand and caught it at its hilt. She swung it down with such force that it easily pierced his thigh.
A throaty cry of pain escaped him, and his hold on her loosened, giving her the chance to pull down on the sword with her legs and disarm him. She brought his arm up and sank her teeth into his skin, drawing blood.
Another scream bellowed from him before he finally released her, sending them both tumbling to the ground.
She didn’t wait and grabbed his sword, turning it on him.
General Olaniyan lay there, holding his leg and gritting his teeth at her. She pointed his sword towards him, mere inches from his throat. “Yield.”
Being out of breath didn’t stop her from screaming, “YIELD!”
The sounds of swords coming from their sheaths around her caused her to look up. The Order soldiers were ready to attack if she further injured their General.
“Loyalty; you lack it. Crazed cunt,” he spat out.
Just then, she felt someone at her side, a sword in their hand pointing down at the General’s neck. She didn’t need to look to know that it was Kaed. His presence this close was enough for her to feel him and the anger that emanated from him.
On her other side, Illyan stood.
Straightening her back, she pulled the sword slightly away from his throat. As she looked around her, more swords were out, but they weren’t pointed at her. From the White Cloaks to the King’s Eagles, they all held their weapons out at the Order Soldiers who had begun raising their weapons to her.
Azahara looked back down at Olaniyan, whose eyebrows were furrowed and eyes filled with an intense fire of hate, directed straight at her.
“I’ll see you on the battlefield, General.” She tossed his sword into his lap. “Lucky for you, this cunt is on your side.” For now.