Blade lunged.
The hybrid moved like a coiled spring, claws flashing toward Aaron's chest. Aaron barely shifted—sidestep, a ghost of motion—and Blade's talons sliced only through empty air. The spar had started hot, intent on showing teeth, on testing boundaries. But Blade wasn't done. From that outstretched hand he spat a volley of compressed blood-bullets, each one humming with lethal intent.
For a heartbeat Aaron was off-balance—caught mid-thought—then he improvised. With a flick of will he summoned a low, thick wall of congealed blood; the bullets struck and shattered against it in sparkling crimson shards. The wall narrowed his field of vision to a slit, but hearing had always been his fallback. He relied on the sanctuary's muted night sounds and the soft crunch of Blade's boots on the turf to triangulate the next move.
Only… he couldn't hear Blade move.
