77. Jack
SEVENTY-SEVEN
JACK
Anger at the mention of his father sought to unsteady Jack. The fact that Scar remembered he was able to channel magic further rattled his resolve.
Jack rolled out of the way from the first attack. His move was barely made in time. Scar was just as fast as the soldier in the Queen’s presentation earlier that day.
The young magician recovered from his roll, throwing a knife at the assassin’s back. Much faster than any human had a right to be, the assassin turned and dodged the blade.
Jack’s stomach twisted into a knot. Before Scar could mount another attack or fear take hold of his heart, Jack rushed into action.
He sent the last two knives spiraling through the air, followed by another two magical blasts of green energy.
Scar was fast enough to dodge one, but could he dodge four projectiles at once?
Jack’s gamble paid off. The assassin ducked the first knife, but the next three projectiles hit their marks. The last blade lodged in Scar’s left forearm. The two green blasts of magic struck him in the torso and right thigh. The scent of burned flesh filled the area with its putrid smell.
Jack felt heat radiate from his body. Both of his hands were alive with dancing green magic. Already he could feel the draw of energy begin to sap his strength.
The three wounds Jack inflicted would have been enough to bring down any man. Jack’s heart caught in his throat as he watched the assassin remove the blade as if it were a splinter. Scar ignored the magical burn marks on his body altogether.
“Nice little trick.” The man code-named Night Walker ripped the cloak from his body, throwing it to the side.
His body was a mess of crisscrossing scars over a canvas of pale skin.
Smoke still came from the wound on his torso.
The gaping crater of cooked meat didn’t seem to faze Scar in the least. The members of The Order, who were momentarily stunned by Jack’s show of magic, roared their approval.
They watched on with hungry eyes as Scar advanced yet again.
Jack clenched his teeth, now more frustrated than afraid. He could clearly see where his attacks had landed. The pain and loss of blood, however, did nothing to hinder the advance of the assassin.
The flames from the braziers danced around the dark room as Jack circled his opponent. The noise of the crowd was gone. All that mattered was the next few seconds of combat, the next few seconds that could mark the end for Jack.
Scar leaned down to pick up one of the fallen throwing knives.
The one and only thing in Jack’s mind was to control the weapon in his attacker’s hand. If he could disarm the assassin, Jack knew his chances of survival would rise tenfold.
When Scar attacked, he went for a punch with his non-weapon hand to Jack’s ribcage. Pain lanced through Jack’s sternum as if something was broken. He forced his mind to focus past it. He only had eyes now for the assassin’s right hand holding the throwing knife.
As the blade arced down toward his skull, Jack called on his magic. A bright green knife grew from his closed right fist and came to a sharp point. Jack pushed his own magical knife skyward, impaling Scar’s hand from the edge of his palm, up through his thumb.
The shock was enough for Scar to lose his grip on the knife.
Jack pulled back his blade, pleased with the result.
The feeling of victory was short-lived as his assailant recovered with inhuman speed and caught him with an uppercut that made Jack lose concentration.
His green knife dissipated. Jack saw spots of black.
Pain exploded in his head. He fell to his knees.
Jack’s mouth was filled with the metallic taste of blood. He spit out the crimson substance without thinking.
The Scar pressed the attack, the sight of blood bringing on an almost manic state as he charged once again. A crazed fire burned in his eyes.
Jack’s mind fought to stay conscious. He struggled to his feet, ignoring the pain. He felt as if his ribs and jaw were broken.
It seemed Scar was done talking. His right hand was a charred mess. He was limping. A mix of dark blood and smoke rose from the wounds across his body. Still, he came forward.
Jack did his best to channel the full force of his magic once more.
Without the use of his wand, his efforts at producing a powerful attack were fruitless.
He was exhausted and half delirious. He needed a moment to think and gather himself.
Green light sparked across his fists, despite his weakened state.
Jack landed strikes to the assassin’s neck and throat, his attempts feeble at best.
Scar wrapped his good hand around Jack’s throat.
Jack felt his feet lift off the ground. He tore at the grip around his neck, but it was useless.
Scar wasn’t a man at all. Jack had been fighting him as if he were still hindered by the same limitations as a mortal.
Jack gasped, air coming in short, shallow gulps.
His heart pounded in his ears like the slowing beat of a drum as he died.