Chapter 5 #2
My heart lurches as he thrusts his short sword in between the vertebrae spikes of the creature’s back.
Hoisting his immense body up onto its spinal column, using his sword as leverage.
The right side of his pinned leather vest rips to shreds, exposing the lines that carve his abdomen.
He latches onto the spikes of the beast’s back as it bucks wildly.
I almost can’t watch as he reaches for one of the long swords from his back.
His luck has finally run out, and it’s time for him to meet Lady Death.
My eyes go wide, breath held prisoner by anticipation, as he uses the long sword as bait for the Bone-Thresher’s death bite.
The beast snaps down, bending the steel in its lockjaw.
Then, gliding through the beast’s dorsal spikes in a sideways dive, he grabs onto the hilt of his long sword for torque, guiding the swinging migration of his body.
The lethal precision of his movements make me swallow.
In one fluid maneuver, as if dancing with the killer beast, he unsheathes his dagger and slides under its neck, slitting its throat open.
Appearing on the other side as he lands perfectly on his feet.
My skin crackles with delight as I glare at him, swallowing again in the heat of thinking about how effortlessly his body moved. He knows how to wield his frame, and my traitorous body wants to find out just how deadly he can be.
A trail of splattered blood leads me from his chest up to his face. His gaze claims mine. The contrast of his icy eyes against his umber skin and black hair, now dripping with crimson, awakens a feral hunger in me.
A sly grin kicks up at the corner of his mouth.
My lips part, his eyebrow arching in response as his gaze shifts to my lips.
Fuck. He is trouble, and I can feel it in my bones, despite how my skin warms under his piercing gaze.
There is something almost challenging about his smirk.
Celestials, why does my body feel so drawn to him? Must be the adrenaline.
“Next trialist: Savaé Entropaé.” My gaze unwillingly pulls away as I hear my name called from the dais of administrators overseeing the spectacle.
I reach for my mental shields. Nothing and no one will distract me from my goal, from everything Sully and I have worked for. And definitely not whatever the fuck just happened to me when he looked at me. With my shields up, I let an all too familiar numbness seep deep into my marrow.
Now, I am the weapon. With unwavering focus, I walk down the steps. Sully grabs my cloak as I descend. I send a silent thank you to him for the armor that will keep me safe and hide my markings from the onlookers.
I can almost hear the words as he mouths, “Give ’em hell, little dragon,” before falling out of sight above me. Then I hear the creaking of that gate.
The one that gave me the eerie feeling earlier. The one out of place. Yep, that checks. Perhaps I truly am cursed.
Of course, the Fates are laughing at me, giving me the proverbial middle finger. Of course, the rules of the game change when I come into play.
Well, bring it on, because I play to win.
A cold smirk grazes my lips as I reposition myself in the pit.
There’s a smoldering gaze on my neck again.
Odd. This time, I am fully cloaked in the shadows; no one can see me.
I find the hole in my shields where the feeling of that branding gaze sneaks in, adding another layer to my shields as the feeling drifts away.
I pause. Do I want distance or surprise?
I have no clue what I’m going up against. A warm feeling along the back of my neck nudges me to the notion of surprise.
Darting to the shadowy edge along the rising gate of thick wooden beams, I rest my body flat. Mind over matter. I will my heart still as I close my eyes. The beat slows as I breathe out, opening my eyes to the calm of control.
A nude, almost-wet, contorted arm slinks out of the gate.
Claws as long as my hand glisten at the second elbow joint.
I follow the arm to its end, where long fingers with one too many joints reach out.
I track the path of the arm to see a skin-colored wing attached between its third elbow.
An oval face with no eyes kinks its head at the crowd above.
No. It can’t be.
Goosebumps prickle my skin as a staccato of clicks chatter from its teeth-filled mouth, confirming my suspicion. Echolocation. My heart screeches, begging to race, but I imagine my fist clenching around, holding it still. I cannot lose control. Mind over matter. I focus.
Shhh.
This is a Ritherin, a favorite among Wuvon for scouting missions.
They leave their victims withered husks, hence the name.
They excel at sightlessly finding their prey, no matter how well-hidden.
On top of that, they can fly. It has long, contorted arms with four joints to grasp you into its wings, filled with hooks.
Hooks that are actually small mouths for draining your blood.
Or ripping you apart in the blink of an eye.
And if that isn’t bad enough, it has long, agile legs, so it’s even fast on foot.
I remember Sully’s words: “Every monster has its weaknesses. Nature insists there is always a balance.”
Clicks ricochet in all directions as the monster continues to slink out.
I have to think fast. My position is to my advantage, praise the Celestials.
The circular structure will cause its clicks to bounce back; plus, all the noise from the people watching above the pit, combined with the hustle and bustle of city life beyond, should distract it.
I’m thankful for the noise I was cursing earlier.
If we were in my isolated village, I’d already be Ritherin meat.
I pause. They couldn’t release this thing into the pit without clipping its wings, or everyone who showed up today would be dead, plus countless others in the city. I notice its right wing has a large slit through it, so it can’t fly. The slit will reduce its balance but also give it more mobility.
I hold my breath as I slowly reach for my dragon-fang dagger, paralysis poison imbued into the metal.
Even if I don’t kill it, the beast will be paralyzed.
I just need to stay alive for a few heartbeats.
Every monster’s metabolism is different, and against a predator like this, the time it takes may not be enough to save me.
My focus is on only moving when it sends clicks out and not while listening for the frequencies to come back.
Before attacking, I have about three leaping steps I need to make—soundlessly—before I can jump on the back of its left wing, going in for the throat.
I wrap the circular hilt of my dragon-fang dagger around my middle finger, resting the large part of the circle against my palm with the short triangular blade parallel to my wrist. I listen, attuning myself to the rhythm of his clicks.
Gliding one step, with my toes barely touching the ground, before I make the leap of my second step.
On my third step, I barely feel my toes graze the ground before using all my weight to create momentum, swinging my arms up into the air for extra lift.
The shift in the air snags its attention.
It turns, body twisting to assess the change.
Its eyeless face snaps over its right shoulder at me, shifting its position, causing me to crash-land further out on its left wing than intended.
Son of a bitch.
The little mouths under its left wing wriggle up, snapping at my fingers.
I swing out with my dagger, jamming it into the side of its neck but too far back to slit its throat.
I let go with my left hand, reaching over its shoulder as I try to grab under its neck, hoping I don’t tumble into its mouth.
The Ritherin wails as it swings side to side.
Searing pain pierces my back as the claws of its gangly hand slam into my armor.
Two talons filleting my flesh as they make it past my armor in the part without scales, allowing me to lace it tight.
I ignore the slashing pain, positioning my left hand on the right side of its jaw with my forearm, thankfully under its mouth.
I use the momentum of it trying to rip me off its back with the force of my hand, snapping its neck.
Gravity catapults us towards the ground.
I fucking play to win.
I rip the dead weight of its claws out of my back before pulling my dagger from its neck and sheathing it at my ribs. I look up at the humming crowd; the spectators are busily whispering to each other.
What? Is there something on my face?
My eyes dance around the circle above me before meeting his piercing gaze. Pinning me in place. A shiver caresses my back as he arches his left eyebrow at me, almost looking impressed. I huff, determining it’s just the shiver of blood dripping down my spine.
I shift my gaze to the opening exit, grateful only a few of the claws pierced my back. Luckily, my vital organs are unscathed.
As I walk, my mind races with thoughts of how I can fix my armor. Then my legs sway a little, hit with the magnitude of what just happened. I defeated a Ritherin—a wounded Ritherin, but still. This is one of the deadliest monsters on the continent. That was fucking wild, but I did it!
My brief elation plummets along with my stomach as I hear Sully raging at someone about how the fuck this could have happened.