Forged Destiny [Book 3: Ch. 11]

The Malachites didn't speak, but they fell into fighting stances, as did the people on either side of them. I swallowed and raised my sword, bringing my shield up in the other hand. This wasn't going to be good. It was almost ten against two, and the Malachites weren't pushovers when they were together. Yang and I had managed to separate them the last time, but it was clear they weren't going to fall for the same trick twice.

"You take the ones behind us," Blake whispered.

I glared back at her. "Are you insane? Those two are the leaders, and you want me to leave you to fight against them alone?"

[...]

Their first attack missed as Blake blurred into black shadows once more – and suddenly I couldn't pay any more attention because the others were on me.

A sword almost cut my cheek, thrust into my face as I leaned to the side and used my gauntleted hand to knock it away. My shield came up, catching a flanged mace that sent painful vibrations up my arm and into my shoulder. Something else struck from behind, hitting me in the lower back but being absorbed by my new, thicker armour.

There were too many of them. This was insane!

Rolling to the side to build distance, I surged back up and lashed out at the first enemy to reach me. Crocea Mors bit down hard on his sword, and he seemed ill-prepared for my unusually high Strength. His arm buckled, his guard broke, and he gasped as the blade cut into metal armour and drew blood. Not enough, of course – and not enough to kill, but more than enough to put him out of the fight.

Sadly, it also put my sword out of the fight, as he fell with it still lodged in his armour. The leather hilt was torn from my fingers.

"You bastard!" another of them howled.

"You attacked me!" I argued back, not that it made a difference. A knife flashed for my face, and although I flickered back, he lunged forward and drew a thin line down my cheek. He was a Thief – and faster than me, a constant problem. On his next attack, I decided I'd had enough of it and threw myself forward. What he had in Dexterity, he lacked in Strength, and although his knife clattered off my shoulder, he was completely unable to dodge or deal with my weight. He fell to the ground, crushed under my weight. I rolled off before he could stab me, and stole the dagger from his fingers. He groaned weakly and clutched his chest, while I staggered back up and swung the tiny thing at his friends. "Who wants some!?"

It was a poor choice of words. Apparently, the answer was everyone. Everyone wanted some. One fighter jumped me from the left, another hurtling forward and ducking low, wrapping his arms around my legs. I jammed the knife down into his shoulder, but he grunted and took it without complaint – and suddenly there was a woman behind me, an arm around my neck as she tried to lift my head and expose my throat.

They were actually trying to kill us! This was insane!

Panic set in. My hand latched back, catching her wrist and then burning her flesh as I Stoked the Forge straight into her. The scream she let out was agonising, and she let go of me as if she'd been scalded. She had, except far worse – as my finger marks in her skin would attest. With her gone, it left me able to join both hands above my head and slam them down onto the back of the person clutching my lower half. He grunted once, and then gasped as my armour-plated elbows crashed down. He slumped down to my feet, and fell unconscious as I kicked his face with steel-tipped boots. I ran to the left, tearing Crocea Mors free from the wounded opponent.

Just in time to spin and block a foot aimed straight for my face.

"Tch, you're stronger than the last time," Melanie Malachite hissed.

—Forged Destiny [Book 3: Ch. 11]