"Brace yourself." Morgana pinched her arm, hard. "It isn't over."
When Daciano had taken a blow that sent him careening across the ring, Bettina had nearly lost the contents of her stomach. Tears had welled when Gourlav had severed the skin on Daciano's chest.
The vampire's shirt had been torn away, revealing that gaping wound, a length of bloody lacerations just beneath his pec muscles. The more blood he lost, the less control he would have with teleporting. For some reason, he looked hell-bent on getting back to his staff, the one that she'd watched tumble end over end, bouncing ever farther away from him.
Gourlav traced for it. Somehow the vampire beat him there. In a stunning show of strength, Daciano shoved his fists straight out, connecting with Gourlav's plated chest.
Now the primordial went flying!
Everyone gaped at the power left in Daciano's battered body, at the coldness with which he still fought.
But Gourlav was back on his feet too soon. The vampire charged toward his opponent, gaining speed. With a roar, Gourlav accepted the challenge and began tearing across the ring, quaking the ground with each footfall.
Two locomotives on the same track.
Daciano barreled into the primordial, shoulder first, as if he were busting down a door. The bone-rattling impact sent Gourlav sprawling to his back, the momentum grinding the being's body across the ground in a wake of spraying clay.
Gasps sounded all around the ring. Had the primordial's thick skin been pierced? All waited with bated breath for Child Terrors. Waiting . . .
None spawned.
Freed of his opponent, Daciano turned toward the staff. Lips thinned, he traced to it, gushing blood anew when he bent to seize it from the ground. As he straightened, he met Bettina's gaze.
Behind him, Gourlav scrambled up and ran at Daciano once more, rattling the entire ring with his steps.
"Turn around, vampire!" Why keep his back to his foe?
Whatever Daciano saw in her expression eased the grim chill in his own; his shoulders went back.
"Turn-around!" she cried even more frantically. Gourlav was nearly upon him!
Still the vampire stared at her. She whispered, "Face him. Ah, gods, please."
Mere feet away.
At the last moment, Daciano traced out of Gourlav's way. The primordial went lurching forward. Behind him, a blaze erupted, like . . . like dawn.
As Gourlav whirled around, shielding his eyes against the sudden burst of light, Bettina's jaw slackened.
The vampire was wielding the scythe of the Vrekeners, the one with a mystical blade made of flames.
The one that had been poised over Bettina three months ago.
Only now the black fire was replaced by flames that burned hotter and brighter than she could ever have imagined, like the surface of the sun.
"My gods," Morgana murmured. "Do you know what that is?"
One of the most legendary weapons in the Lore, one of only four rumored to exist.
Bettina hadn't recognized the plain black staff-the sole time she'd beheld that scythe, her eyes had been fixed on the glowing black blade.
Daciano traced into a lunge, launching himself at Gourlav, that scythe flaming above the vampire's head in a mind-boggling tableau.
Gourlav seemed blinded, confused. Too late, he tried to teleport. Daciano had already swung.
The scythe sliced through one protective shoulder horn, then the primordial's meaty neck, then another horn. Cutting like a laser.
The creature's head bounced, its mouth still moving. Its body crashed to the ground like a felled moonraker tree. Spectators froze, dread sweeping over them.