Scorio forced a grin. It probably looked horrific with his fanged maw. “You’re guttered. I could have killed you. No need to make you feel that pain for nothing.”
She stared at him flatly, then rose to stand. “I wouldn’t have spared you.”
“That’s your business. Nyrix? Do I need to chase you across the oval, or do you give up?”
Nyrix had backed all the way across the field. “You’ll never catch me. It’s a draw.”
“How are you still ignited?” demanded Himiko angrily. “What is that technique?”
“Little trick of mine.” Scorio regrew his wings, but his left came out dead, so he withdrew them again. “Taron?”
“Good enough.” The Pyre Lord had remained still and silent throughout, arms crossed. “The constraints are artificial, but they are what they are. Unless you want to hop after Nyrix for the remaining thirty or so seconds, I declare this a draw.”
Scorio glared at where the tousle-headed youth stood on the oval’s far side. COME HERE.
Nyrix flinched, took a step forward, then drew back.
Damn it. He was too far away.
“A draw,” agreed Scorio wearily. The pain was besieging his mind, clamorous and growing worse by the moment.
“You’re in pain,” said Himiko, coming a stop before Scorio. “Want me to snap your neck?”
“That’s very sweet of you.” Scorio inhaled deeply, fighting the agony, and forced another smile. “But I’m no stranger to pain.”
She shrugged, crossed her arms, and turned away.
“Almost done,” called Taron.
Scorio studied the dead. Fyrona, temple punctured, side torn open. Ursan, battered and his throat torn out. Wesanin, unmarked, face down in the sand. Merideva lying in a large pool of blood, stabbed through the heart. Galvon, decapitated. Penaela, unconscious. Rharvyn on his side, unmarked like Wesanin, slain by Mercy.
The rushing roar of power around the Temporal Obelisks slowed abruptly, the endless coiling smoothing out, and the world seemed to spin, the monoliths revolving around them, all of it speeding up with such abrupt violence that Scorio cried out and flung up his good arm, convinced that he was about to be hurled out of the arena like a piece of fruit from a spinning plate.
But then it ceased, the fog burned away in a matter of seconds, and everything that had transpired, every movement, every action, every emotion and thought, reversed themselves in Scorio’s mind, blurring into a seamless whole as he fled back through the combat to the moment Taron had invested the monoliths with Gold mana.
Scorio stood on the arena’s far side once more, human, Heart yet burning, reservoir partially expended, his healed teammates beside him.
Merideva let out a deep gasp and placed her hand to her heart. Wesanin cursed, stumbled, glared with golden eyes at where Himiko stood. Rharvyn and Galvon had similar reactions, suddenly breathless and breaking out into sweat, but none of them were completely undone by the experience.
“Who fell?” demanded Merideva, regaining her composure with admirable speed.
“Himiko got me,” said Rharvyn.
“Me, as well,” said Wesanin. “She somehow cut me down from within my tornado.”
“Cut my head off,” said Galvon, voice rich with bitterness. “Jump stepped right through my attack.”
“She’s as lethal as they say,” said Merideva with a sigh. Almost as an afterthought: “How long did you last, Scorio?”
Scorio stared across the sands at where Himiko had linked her hands behind her back and was listening intently to the others. “Hmm? Oh, I didn’t die.”
Merideva blinked. “What?”
“I didn’t die. I killed Ursan, then I killed Fyrona. The Shadow Petal tried to kill me, but ran out of mana first, so I let her live. Same with Nyrix. Taron declared it a draw.”
The other four Dread Blazes stared at him.
“A draw?” asked Rharvyn, tone awed. “You fought Fyrona, Ursan, Nyrix, and the Shadow Petal to a draw?”
“By the ten hells,” said Merideva, staring at him in frank disbelief. “How?”
“Alright everyone!” Taron clapped his hands. “Our time’s up. We need to clear out so the next crew can use the arena. Let’s go and compare notes.”
“Just got lucky, I guess,” said Scorio softly.
The other four stared at him a moment longer, and then reluctantly pulled themselves away to walk toward Taron.
Scorio fell in behind them, thoughts churning.
The next time they used the arena he would find a way to cut her down.
The Shadow Petal couldn’t be invincible.
He’d find a way.
Chapter 34
“How the hell did you take my eye blast and not lose your leg?” Fyrona stepped right up into Scorio’s face, her own blue eyes wide.
“For that matter,” said Nyrix quietly from where he’d dropped into a crouch, “how did you last so long without guttering?”
The Dread Blazes had formed a rough semi-circle around him, their expressions a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and awe.
Scorio raised both palms slowly. “My scaled form became even tougher when I made Dread Blaze.”
Fyrona poked her finger in his chest. “You’re my rank. That means you should have taken far more damage. My attack is vicious.”
“It is,” chuckled Wesanin, who’d sat down next to Nyrix. “She once cut my tornado in half just as I was forming. Caused me to lose structural integrity and fall apart.”
“It’s like I said. My scaled form is hard to damage. I’m Gold-tempered.”
Fyrona’s expression went slack and she stepped back.
Now it was Galvon’s turn to scowl at him. “You’re serious? You’re Gold-tempered?”
“That would explain it.” Taron stood to one side, hands linked behind his back, gazing out at the Temporal Obelisks. “I could sense something special about you, but thought that was merely your obscene Heart and rugged charm.” He cut a glance back at Scorio. “How did you pull that off?”
Everyone was staring at him now, incredulous.
Scorio rubbed the back of his head. “Bad luck, mostly. Manticore dumped me in the Crucible, back at the Fiery Shoals. I had to survive down there for two years. This happened after they had me vent my Coal saturation. I guess I should have thanked them, really.”
“Before or after you killed them all?” asked Rharvyn, his tone dark.
“Not all of them.” Taron’s tone remained cheery. “Their former leader, Daemon, passed through camp a couple of weeks ago. He was hell-bent on getting to the Silver Unfathom, however. Didn’t stay long.”
Scorio felt his gut tighten. “He was here? Why?”
“Wanted to speak to an old friend.” Taron’s smile was perfunctory. “He resisted all efforts at recruitment and moved on. A pity. His predictive powers would have been… useful.”
“He’s a dead man walking,” said Scorio. “When I find him, I’m going to tear off his head.”
There was an awkward silence.
“You know we don’t technically condone outright murder,” said Taron. “Right?”
Scorio shrugged. “Then he shouldn’t have murdered my friends. What I’m doing is justice.”
“So says every vigilante. No matter. Daemon is gone, the Blood Ox is imminent.”
“He still hasn’t explained how he didn’t gutter,” said Himiko quietly. She stood alone to one side, arms tightly crossed over her chest. Her stare was direct, her eyes narrowed. “I have prodigious reserves of mana, and even I ran dry before the end.”
“His Heart is absolutely absurd,” said Taron. “When one reaches Pyre Lord one’s ability to sense and understand mana improves by leaps and bounds, and you gain the ability to vaguely perceive Hearts directly. From what I can see, his Heart is easily larger than yours, and unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”
“Is that it, then?” Fyrona had stepped back but not moved away. “Just a case of a massive reservoir?”