Brusk snorted, shaking his head with irritation. He coughed sharply, the noise like rocks scraping in a dry throat. "Damn sand," he muttered, nostrils flaring, "Gets in your throat, nasty little grains."
As he wiped a hand across his face, his eyes drifted, not toward Caelvir, but to the two one-armed men standing still at his right. They were barely breathing, frozen by fear rather than courage.
"The weak first," Brusk said, his grin returning like a fresh wound.
Then he charged.
Caelvir's eyes widened.
This was it.
In a fight of blades, turning your back meant death.
Brusk's monstrous legs pounded across the arena, sand exploding under each step. He would reach the men in seconds, too fast and too powerful. Caelvir's sword would only strike after Brusk had already cleaved one of them in half.
Aelric's voice echoed in the cell corridor behind the arena wall.
"So the beast is hungry for blood," he said calmly. "Targeting the weak makes sense. Now… this is Caelvir's chance."
Caelvir moved.
He didn't move like a tactician, nor like a gambler weighing odds.
He ran, not toward Brusk's flank, but alongside him, matching his pace like two predators chasing the same prey.
Aelric tilted his head as he watched.
"Hmm? Is he planning to strike Brusk from the side while he's focused on the others? Or perhaps…" A faint smile played on his lips. "Perhaps he's going to protect them, save one and sacrifice the other? Or…"
The horn of Brusk's war cry rose in the arena as the axe lifted.
Steel met steel. Seren's blade caught the axe mid-swing, sparks flying, a sharp chime splitting the air.
Aelric leaned forward.
"Both it is, then," he murmured. "But here, kindness is rewarded with death."
"Stupid," Valkira hissed. "What is he thinking? Those two are fresh meat, no use in a real fight. Let them die."
The pressure of Brusk's axe was immense, driving down with the force of a landslide. Caelvir was forced to kneel, both hands bracing the sword above him like a cross, holding back the flood. The dirt beneath his boots gave way, his knees carving trenches in the sand.
"The Blade King kneeling to an axe," Brusk sneered. "Not befitting of you, your grace."
Brusk pressed harder.
Caelvir grit his teeth, his eyes searching, not Brusk's face but the surroundings, the angle of the blow, the opening. He expected a kick to the chest, a sudden twist of the axe, anything.
But what came did not come from Brusk.
A sharp pain pierced his back.
His breath hitched.
Cold steel sank between his ribs, right where the heart hid.
His hands faltered.
The axe surged downward.
Seren's sword spun from his grip, flung like a silver cry across the sand.
Then the axe kissed flesh.
A long, clean slice split across Caelvir's left chest. Crimson rose instantly, gushing with the rhythm of a wounded heart.
But his instincts saved him.
At the last second, his body twisted just enough to turn a killing blow into a maiming one. Still, the pain was absolute.
He collapsed.
Two wounds now marked him, one from betrayal and one from brute force. Either could kill a warrior. Together, they sang death.
Valkira's lip curled in disgust. "To be betrayed by the ones he had no business protecting…"
Brusk laughed, dragging the axe behind him like a child pulling a broken toy. "You've come far, boy, killed left and right. But now?"
He gestured broadly, arms open.
"You lose it all over one stupid decision."
He coughed again, deeper this time.
"Damn the sand."
Then he turned, eyes narrowing at the two trembling men, but mostly at the one who had stabbed Caelvir.
"You rat," Brusk said softly. "You don't even know who your actual opponent is?"
The man who had stabbed Caelvir tried to speak, voice cracking. "T-told me I could get… out. The guard… he said—"
"Hhmm?" Brusk raised a brow. "Too bad."
He swung the axe once.
It caught one of the men at the shoulder, right where the remaining arm had been. The limb fell, a final offering to fear.
The other man barely flinched before his other arm joined its twin on the ground.
Brusk took a step back and let the silence fall.
Then, without ceremony, he split both heads with two swift arcs. It made no difference. The blood was already draining from them like water from broken vessels.
They would have died either way.
He turned to Caelvir.
But the boy was rising.
Shakily, crawling, pushing.
His hand reached the sword now lodged in the sand, and he pulled it free, dragging his body upward.
He stood.
Barely.
Leaning on the hilt, breath ragged, chest soaked, knees trembling. His eyes locked on Brusk's. Focused, quiet, burning.
Then Brusk coughed again.
Harder.
He stumbled slightly, spitting something dark into the sand.
Blood.
Real blood.
It didn't come from his throat, nor from any cut he could remember.
Brusk blinked, confused. He looked at his chest and arms. There were no wounds.
"Did the boy… manage to strike me? But where?"
The crowd murmured.
Even the guards in the stands frowned.
Valkira narrowed her eyes. "When did he damage Brusk?"
Aelric's lips curved into a knowing smile.
He spoke softly.
"It seems one of the best warriors of the Dust Arena cannot stand the dust."