Forged Destiny [Book 4: Ch. 7]

I brought my sword around to the side, but rather than block it, the person kicked it aside viciously, leaving me open as they slammed the hilt of their weapon into my nose. Stars danced before my vision, but I ducked anyway – knowing the opening would be taken advantage of.

[...]

Something flickered in the air in front of the person, however. It hovered directly in the middle of his body, and looked like smoke – or maybe the hazy phenomenon of intense heat on air. I caught it at the last second, and wasn't able to halt my attack.

Not until a wall of fire shot up between us, and I'd swung my hands directly into it.

"Arghhh!"

"Jaune!" Blake screamed.

"I'm okay!" I yelled back, determined not to distract her and get her hurt. The flames had caught my sword and hands, but the metal would last and I'd live. I drew them out with a hiss, the skin red and raw and screaming in agony. I wanted nothing more than to let go, but knew better. "Damn it," I hissed, shaking my sword instead.

[...]

The wall of fire expanded out and rushed towards me. Knowing there was no escape, I closed my eyes and dove through it, hissing at the sensation of burning that washed over me, and then forcing my eyes to open once I was on the other side.

[...]

It was a sword crafted solely of flames, and he danced into my guard once more, swinging it towards me.

I blocked it easily enough, but realised a second later that was the point. Despite it ostensibly not being a solid object, it did impact my sword and catch there – but sparks and flames flickered past, singing my skin and burning the air before my face. My eyes watered, but I couldn't afford to close them.

[...]

My guard broke, Crocea Mors forced to the side by the flaming blade, but it was flesh and bone and not fire that caught me – an elbow slamming into my face and knocking my head back. A firm hand settled around my wrist when I tried to recover, twisting and burning it in equal measure. I gasped as flames rushed up my arm, burning away cloth and making me scream in pain. A knee caught my stomach. The air was driven from me. Crocea Mors clattered from my hand, as did the sword from his, and the two of us were born to the ground, with me trapped beneath the other.

A fist caught my chin, stunning me, and I barely had the time to see a flash of golden eyes before hands were settled about my throat. They were still hot with fire, and it felt like the air would be burned as well as choked from me. I wrapped my own about them, my right hand heating up as I tried to burn through the figure's wrist, or to make them let go. It did nothing and the hands around my throat didn't slack.

The grip was tight. I tried to pry it off, but they were strong - stronger than even me.

"Die," the figure hissed, and even in my panic, I was surprised to realise it was a woman's voice. "For everything you've done, Greycloak!"

Greycloak?

"Not…"

Her eyes narrowed.

"Not… Greycloak," I gargled, vision dimming. "B-Beacon…"

"Beacon? Vale…?" The hands loosened. The eyes widened. The weight above me tore away, scrambling to her feet as I rolled on my side and hacked for breath. I could barely see, and kept a hand clutched to my neck as I struggled to breathe.

—Forged Destiny [Book 4: Ch. 7]