The impact cracked the cavern floor. Dust and stone erupted upward. For a moment, all was smoke and shadow and screaming echoes.
When it cleared, both still stood, but Maeven now bore a shallow cut across his cheek. A line of blood, thin but real, trailed down his pale skin.
Lindarion's lips curled into something between a grin and a snarl.
Maeven touched the blood with his fingers. He looked at it like a scholar studying an artifact, then slowly brought his hand to his mouth. His tongue licked the crimson smear away.
His pale eyes lifted, brighter now. "Yes," he whispered. "This will be fun."
The cavern groaned around them. The humans pressed further back, some whispering prayers, others vomiting from the sheer pressure pressing against their bodies. The mutants trembled, caught between hunger and instinctive fear.
But Lindarion heard none of it. Only the thrum of the blade in his hand, and the blood rushing in his ears.
