Xerxes shouted no battlecry. He ran on the balls of his feet, trying to prevent his footfalls from making any undue noise. At the same time, he ran as fast as he could. And as he neared Ligish, he clenched his hand into a burning, white fist. He still had a few seconds left before he would have to recast Singular Lethality.

I can kill him with one blow if I hit him right, he thought. Even if he failed, he would at least do significant damage.

Bel shrank back from Ligish, all the while fumbling endlessly with an arrow that refused to come out of the quiver.

Xerxes halved the distance between himself and the martial adept, and still saw no reaction from the man.

I got this, he thought. With only a few paces separating the two of them, he pulled his fist back and eyed the spot on the ground ahead where he intended to plant his foot and generate the force for his blow.

Just as his foot touched the spot, Ligish spun, delivering a roundhouse kick that smashed into Xerxes before he could lift an arm to deflect the blow. Luckily, the kick didn’t hit his jaw, but instead, his shoulder. Otherwise he would have been knocked unconscious. Nonetheless, it threw him to the ground and sent him flopping to the side.

“You think I’m deaf or something?” Ligish said. Glancing at Bel, who had finally pulled another arrow out, but couldn’t get it nocked properly, he stepped toward Xerxes. “I’m almost a hundred and fifty years old. You’re a tenth my age, or thereabouts. You really think you could best me in combat?”

Scrambling back onto his feet, Xerxes kept his burning hand out in front of him, palm open.Only to see it flicker back to normal.

FUCK! he shouted at himself. It couldn’t have been a worse time for the spell to end. Grabbing a fistful of powder, he shouted, “Bel, can you get to the captain?”

A flash of surprise appeared on Ligish’s face as his plan to eliminate the mages before having to deal with the soldiers was suddenly threatened.

“I… I….” Bel stammered.

Ligish turned as if to make a move on Bel, and that was when Xerxes cast Singular Lethality a second time. He moved quickly. More quickly than was safe, but it earned him a spare second or more. As his fist once again burned with fire, he shouted, “Hey!” and then pounced, flailing his hand toward the martial adept in what had to be the sloppiest blow he’d delivered since he was a toddler.

Sloppy it might have been, it was effective. He hit the man in the chest with the heel of his palm, and though it was a glancing blow, the power of Singular Lethality was enough to melt flesh, eat through muscle, and bite into bone. Ligish screamed and instinctively lunged away from the burning force.

Xerxes followed up with his own roundhouse kick, landing a clean blow on the man’s calf before following up with a Singular Lethality haymaker.

Ligish’s chest was smoking, and melted flesh still popped and bubbled around the wound. But he ducked out of the way of the blow, and even managed to reach out and grab Xerxes’ forearm. Then he snapped his leg out in a vicious kick, knocking Xerxes’ foot out from under him. Before the young mage could recover his wits, the martial adept pushed his arm into the back of Xerxes’ elbow in a movement that seemed casual. And yet, such was the strength of a martial adept that Xerxes’ arm snapped.

He screamed as bones shattered and tendons ripped. Ligish then kneed him in the stomach, dropping him. Finally, he grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head back.

“You little son of a bitch,” Ligish growled, forming a knifehand that he pulled back to deliver what was obviously going to be a killing blow.

The Singular Lethality spell would last for seconds more, but it didn’t matter, as the horrifying break in his arm made his limb completely unusable. In fact, the pain was so intense he could hardly breathe, but he still tried to make a fist with the other hand. Xerxes tried to let out a growl, but it sounded more like a whimper.

Ligish’s muscles tensed, and he inhaled as he prepared to deliver the blow.

That was when something long, thin and white suddenly slid over his shoulder and latched onto his chest. Followed by another slender, pale appendage. At the same time, a noxious odor washed over Xerxes.

“What…?” Ligish growled.

Three more spindly legs clamped onto his chest, while a handful grabbed his arm.

Xerxes shuddered as he saw two Abhorrent behind the man, dragging him in the opposite direction.

“Get out of there, Xerk!” Gandash yelled.

Ligish released Xerxes’ head, grabbed one of the spider-like legs, and pulled it away from his chest. In the meantime, two more legs grabbed onto him.

Ignoring Gandash’s suggestion to flee, Xerxes launched a strike with his uninjured hand. He caught Ligish directly in the jaw. The man glared back at him and tried to punch him, but hideously stick-like Abhorrent leg grabbed his arm. Keeping his injured arm pressed against his side, Xerxes punched him again. Then again. The pain from his injury was nothing but a dull awareness dampened by adrenaline. For now.

Ligish tried to kick him, but failed.

Xerxes punched again. And again. Over and over until he lost track of how many blows he’d landed.

Eventually, Ligish went limp. But Xerxes wasn’t going to leave anything to chance, so he kept beating the man until his face bled.

“We got him, Xerx,” Gandash said, stepping around his conjured Abhorrent spawn.

Xerxes dropped to his knees, moaning as he cradled his damaged arm. That was when he realized his other hand was cracked and bleeding, and it hurt so bad it was likely he’d broken fingerbones and knuckles. “Fuck, it hurts.”

He felt Gandash’s hand on his shoulder. “Bel will be back in a minute, and you’ll be fine.”

Xerxes glanced at Ligish again, just to make sure the man really was out cold. Then he chuckled, though there were shades of both madness and fear in it. “We did it, Gandy. Didn’t we?”

Gandash made a sound that resembled laughter. “I think we did.”

Bel returned. However, Xerxes’ injuries were severe enough that she didn’t want to cast Minor Restoration until Sergeant Aniskipel took a look. Aniskipel, who was an army surgeon, did a few things that sent waves of immense pain through Xerxes and forced him nearly to the point of blacking out.

“Okay, go on an ‘eal him,” Aniskipel said.

Bel cast Minor Restoration, and Xerxes gritted his teeth as his bones and tendons grew back together properly. After a few seconds, the pain rose to such a level that he moaned. Then it was over. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, he grinned. “All good. Thanks, Bel.”

Even though the damage was repaired, for many hours afterward, Xerxes kept rubbing his elbow. The pain somehow lingered in his mind. He felt certain that he would never forget the sound and feeling of his arm being snapped the wrong way. Nor of beating a martial adept into unconsciousness, and breaking his own hand in the process. The mere thought of it all made him shudder.