Kyle's fingers tightened around Zalrielle's hilt.
The familiar weight of the tachi grounded him as blue-white lightning crackled along its dark steel surface.
Casting flickering shadows across the forest floor.
Sweat trickled down his temple. Stinging his eyes.
But he didn't dare blink.
Across the clearing. The Vorthal's talons flexed.
Digging deep furrows into the damp earth.
Black, tar-like blood still oozed from the wound in its shoulder where Kyle's glacial lance had struck earlier.
Each thick droplet sizzling slightly as it hit the ground.
The moment stretched between them. Taut as a drawn bowstring.
The forest had gone eerily quiet.
No birdsong.
No rustling leaves.
Just the Vorthal's wet, rasping breaths and the distant drip of water from Sylvie's earlier spell.
Kyle could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.
Feel the ache in his muscles from constant mana expenditure.
His ribs protested each breath.
Then the movement.
The Vorthal struck first.
