Drake had known this would be hard.
But he hadn't expected this.
Riko was a monster.
Every strike was a killing blow, his bone-blades extending from his elbows, knees, even his knuckles—glistening, razor-sharp, hungry for flesh. Drake dodged, weaved, blocked with the flat of his sword, but the sheer ferocity of Riko's assault was overwhelming. His lungs burned. His arms trembled.
And Riko wasn't even trying yet.
Riko lunged, his elbow-blade carving the air with a whistle. Drake barely parried, the impact sending a shockwave up his arms, rattling his teeth. Before he could recover, Riko spun—his knee-blade slashing toward Drake's ribs.
Too fast!
Drake twisted, but not enough—the blade grazed his side, slicing through fabric and skin. Warm blood trickled down his hip.
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Several spectators leaned forward in their seats, some covering their mouths in shock.
"First blood to Riko," someone whispered excitedly, while others groaned in disappointment.
Drake clenched his jaw. No. Not yet. I'm not done.
"Stop backing up!" Torin roared from the sidelines, his voice raw. "You're letting him dictate the fight! Meet his aggression head-on!"
Drake wanted to snap back—wanted to scream that it wasn't that simple—but Riko gave him no time.
Gritting his teeth, Drake feinted left, then swung hard, aiming for Riko's ribs.
Riko caught the blade between his crossed forearm-blades, grinning.
"Predictable."
A brutal kick crunched into Drake's thigh, sending him skidding back, his boots scraping against the stone floor. The pain flared hot, his leg buckling for a split second before he forced himself upright.
A collective wince went through the audience. Someone shouted, "Get up, Drake!" while others began chanting Riko's name.
"Drake!" Leo muttered, his tone slightly unimpressed.
He couldn't look at him. Couldn't let himself see the disappointment in his eyes.
"You're slow," Riko taunted, rolling his shoulders like this was nothing. Like Drake was nothing. "Too slow."
Drake's grip tightened on his sword, his knuckles white.
Then Riko charged.
Drake barely raised his blade in time—bone met steel in a shower of sparks. The impact rattled his arms, his muscles screaming in protest.
Too strong.
Riko's fist shot out—Drake ducked, countering with a desperate slash. Riko leaned back, the sword missing his throat by an inch.
Before Drake could reset, Riko's knee-blade slammed into his gut.
Guh—!
Air fled his lungs. His vision swam, black spots dancing at the edges. He staggered, tasting copper.
The crowd's murmurs grew louder, some spectators standing now, torn between horror and fascination.
Riko loomed over him, his bone-blades glistening with blood. Drake's blood.
"Pathetic," Riko sneered.
Drake swung blindly—Riko batted the sword aside like it was a toy and slammed a palm into his chest.
Drake hit the ground hard, his ribs screaming. He coughed, spitting red.
The crowd was silent now. No cheers. No gasps. Just... pity. A few women in the front row turned their faces away.
Riko blurred forward—Drake barely got his sword up in time, but the force of the strike sent him crashing into the arena wall. His back screamed in protest, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs.
Then Riko's knuckle-blades came down like guillotines.
Drake raised his sword—
CRACK.
He felt something in his hand break. The blade didn't shatter, but his fingers did. Pain lanced up his wrist, white-hot and searing.
He ignored it.
With a roar, he swung with all his might—wild, desperate, fueled by sheer defiance.
Riko merely sidestepped.
"Weak," Riko muttered, almost bored.
A sharp pain exploded in Drake's shoulder as Riko's elbow-blade pierced through flesh, blood welling up instantly.
The crowd gasped. Several people stood, some shouting protests while others cheered Riko's dominance.
"Drake!" Alexis shouted, her voice breaking.
Drake gritted his teeth, his legs giving out. He dropped to one knee, his sword clattering to the ground.
His vision blurred. His blood dripped onto the dragon-hilt blade.
I'm sorry, he thought, not sure who he was apologizing to Alexis, to Leo , to the version of himself that still believed – all while Riko's blade descended in what should have been the match's final stroke.
For a fraction of a second, he remained still as the blade descended.
Then—
Thump.
Drake's heart lurched.
His pulse skyrocketed—his veins burning like fire.
Leo's head snapped toward him, his enhanced hearing catching the sudden, unnatural shift in Drake's heartbeat.
What the—?
Then Drake moved.