"You give up?" Atrox asked.
Alyndra was sitting on the ground, her sword in front of her like a discarded toy. Dejection was written on her face, but as Atrox spoke, her face hardened and lit up with the same arrogance she always wore. But it was a pale imitation, an echo.
She forced herself to her feet, gripped her sword tightly, and raised it. "No, never."
Atrox made his fire sword again. He had about a quarter of essence left in his core, but it would be enough. He'd make it be enough. "Let's finish this then."
Fire ignited around him, flaring up in tiny sparks that scattered around him.
She whipped her sword up and down like a bladed rope. The air hummed and cracked, bolts of golden light flying at Atrox.
But then she held her sword with her left hand and covered her right hand with essence. The essence in her hand twisted like a whirlwind at high speed.
