Forged Destiny [Book 2: Ch. 3]

It was a desperate idea – a foolish idea – and yet it was all I had. My right hand, which was currently wrapped around the steel shaft, moved just a little higher. My fingers tightened around it as I concentrated and forced heat into my hands. Metal sizzled beneath my fingers, warping and turning cherry red. Even as a conductor, the heat didn't spread further down. She never noticed.

My Blacksmith's instincts told me it was hot as I was going to get it. With a growl I activated one of my few other skills, Quench, and rapidly cooled the metal back down. At the same time, I kicked out with my right leg, catching her in the ribs and knocked her to the left.

The axe blade nicked my cheek as she fell – and blood dribbled down my cheek as I wrenched Crocea Mors up into the air and brought it down in an overhead slash, with all my Blacksmith's Strength behind it.

The Berserker laughed and held up her battle-axe to catch it on the haft.

My assault was a last act of desperation… I knew that. She knew it too. Even on one knee, she was stronger and better than I could ever hope to be, not even slightly concerned that I had the advantage of height… not when she knew how to handle it.

But she didn't know how to forge steel.

Crocea Mors crashed into the haft directly where I'd heated it, quenched it, but failed to temper the steel. Hard and tinny, the brittle metal shattered under the softer edge of steel. The Berserker gasped as the sword slammed into her right shoulder, bit through armour, and lodged in her collarbone.

—Forged Destiny [Book 2: Ch. 3]