The blade met Verathian with a clang, like steel screaming in protest.
Alex, who had stopped the attack, didn't move—not in the slightest.
He was there, in front of Zahara. He was faster than the serpent-masked attacker could blink; his body had shifted through space like a pulse of thought.
His hand held Verathian in a reverse grip, intercepting the second slash with such calm force that it cracked the attacker's stance completely.
Time seemed to have slowed down.
The attacker twisted unnaturally, blades moving in tandem like liquid shadow. But Alex was already there again, moving before the thought of a counter could even form.
His elbow struck the man's gut with the precision of a hammer against a gong. That strike made the attacker's lungs get emptied.
Before the masked figure could recover, Alex spun low, swept his legs out, and sent the man crashing onto the mossy ground with a brutal thud.
