Nero threw himself backward, the axe blade slamming into the stone where his chest had been. The impact sent fragments of rock flying, one of them cutting a line across Nero's cheek.
Blood ran down his face, dripping onto the fungus-covered floor.
The creature inhaled deeply, as if savoring a pleasant aroma.
"Yes," it breathed. "Yes, that's perfect. Keep bleeding, boy. Keep fighting. The longer this goes on, the more blood is spilled, the stronger I become."
Nero scrambled to his feet, backing toward the pool. Arthur and Jacob followed, both of them bleeding now from multiple wounds. Arthur's enchanted sword dripped crimson. Jacob's face was a mask of blood from the reopened gash on his forehead.
And behind them, the creature watched with evident satisfaction, its white wooden mask tilted in what might have been pleasure.
Nero's back hit something solid.
He glanced over his shoulder and his blood ran cold.
