Ishin watched Mei fall onto the forest floor. That was it. Isho Nel had clearly cut her not just once but twice. A single cut was a death sentence, as he’d seen with Lei. Now Mei was dead too.

  Grinding his teeth, Ishin stood. He discarded the lower half of his spear and flipped the upper portion so the tip could come down to kill. Isho Nel would die. Today.

  “Dammit,” Ishin heard Chen curse from across the forest. She stood over the motionless, bloodied form of the flute cultivator, her wrapped knuckles crusted with drying red. Her eyes, however, were fixed in a murderous glare on Isho Nel.

  A flaming arrow hissed through the air toward Isho Nel, but the swordsman sliced it apart. The two halves spun into the soil, sputtering into twin sparks behind him. His sword now oozed a sickly green fog. A few feet away, Mei moaned—still alive, in pain from her wounds.

  Isho Nel spared her a glance before shifting his attention to Chen and his fallen companion. “You too, Tou? I expected more from you both.”

  Four fists of darkness surged at Isho Nel. He sprang right, avoiding two, then carved the final pair apart with his blades.

  “Our fight isn’t done,” Rhee growled.

  Ishin pointed his fingers at Isho Nel and quickly released another Indigo Sky Bolt. It was so much easier now that he was at the sixth layer. “No, it’s not.”

  The bolt ripped toward Isho Nel, but the distance was too great; the poison swordsman slipped aside. Arrows from Long followed—no flames this time, but each shaft still lethal. Isho Nel’s reflexes were uncanny; he deflected arrow after arrow with his twin blades as he angled toward the archer.

  He’ll run out of arrows at this rate.

  Ishin primed another Indigo Sky Bolt, hoping to pull Isho Nel’s focus. Chen struck first, bursting in from the right. Isho Nel flicked away a final arrow and ducked beneath her cyclone-charged uppercut. He countered with a slash at her extended arm, but Chen snapped it back in time. She spun and landed a roundhouse kick on his right shoulder, shoving him backward across the leaf-strewn ground.

  Chen bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, arms raised, ready to press. Her azure hair, dulled now to cobalt by island grit, flicked with each motion; determination tightened her jaw.

  “No different than the Nightspawn Serpent,” Ishin heard her mutter.

  “Not bad,” Isho Nel admitted as he readied his swords. Both still glowed a poisonous green, the vapor stinging the nose.

  Shadow tendrils formed beneath him. He glanced down and severed them in a single blur of steel. In that heartbeat of distraction, Ishin launched his Indigo Sky Bolt. Isho stepped forward to let it sizzle past—exactly what Ishin had hoped. Chen was on him before he recovered, slamming an open palm into his stomach and blasting him through the air. He skidded across roots and loam, tumbling to a stop several yards away.

  This time, when Isho Nel rose, it was only with considerable effort. One sword dug into the ground, a crutch for his wobbling legs. “Too afraid to fight me one-on-one?” he growled, breath ragged.

  Foolishly, Ishin recalled tales from his tribe’s warriors—his mother’s, most of all. The Daihu Tribe, like all tribes of the Nine Striped Hills, preached honor in the duel: never overwhelm a stronger foe with numbers. His mother would have accepted that demand. But his mother was dead—cut down by many. Six was dead. Lei was dead. Mei would be dead soon.

  What good is honor once you’re dead? His inner beast roared in approval. The truth is, only strength matters.

  “Now you insist on an even fight once you’re the one outnumbered?” Rhee shouted with disdain.

  “Do you not have a warrior’s honor?” Isho Nel glared.

  “A coward who fights with poison has no right to talk about honor,” Rhee spat. “Lei had the honor you speak of. And you killed him.”

  “Enough talking,” Ishin said, raising his broken spear half. “Let’s kill him.”

  “Let’s,” Chen agreed, stepping in. Long approached as well. Together the four formed a crescent around the injured swordsman, a pack of wolves hemming in their prey.

  Isho Nel extended both swords and began to walk forward. “Very well, then.” His tone was remarkably calm—unsettling. “Tell me, which one of you would like the privilege of dealing the final blow?” Eyes peered from beneath his bandages, cool and cutting as they swept across them. “Will it be the wind brawler? The archer? Or perhaps the failed spearman?” Last, his gaze settled on Rhee. “Or the beautiful darkness cultivator? You sounded like you were close to the large one I killed last week.”

  He stopped in the exact center of their formation and crossed his blades before him. “Which one?”

  He doesn’t act like a cornered man.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Sweat beaded on Ishin’s brow. His breathing had quickened, and his meridians trembled from consecutive lightning techniques. Rhee and Chen looked similarly taxed. Long seemed the most composed, but his quiver held only five more arrows—and one already nocked.

  We need to finish this quickly.

  Ishin considered using his Pale Azure Lightning Force Strike, then discarded the thought. I can only use that once, and then I’ll be out of qi. He’s already shown he can dodge my ranged lightning. I can’t get close enough to land it without getting stabbed. Too risky.

  “If none of you want to take the initiative,” Isho Nel said lightly, “then I’ll decide!”

  He darted at Rhee—no surprise. She conjured and hurled three fists of darkness, but he uncrossed his blades and unleashed twin toxic arcs that bisected them in midair.

  He has a ranged technique?!

  Rhee’s eyes flickered with the same realization. They’d underestimated him; the poison swordsman still held unknown cards.

  Isho stabbed from both sides. Rhee manifested arm-shields and caught the steel, but he redirected his left blade, knifing beneath her guard toward her leg. Ishin was there, bringing down his half-spear to beat the cut aside. The edge gouged earth an inch from Rhee’s shin—too close. Then Isho snapped his head forward, smashing Rhee’s brow with a brutal headbutt. She reeled, dizzy. Ishin stepped in and drove his fist into Isho Nel’s face. It wasn’t qi-enhanced, but the blow landed cleanly with a meaty crack.

  Shaking it off, Isho slipped back out of range. Ishin pursued, jabbing with his half-spear, forcing him to dodge. Isho slashed in reply; Ishin sprang back, the venomous edge whispering past his chest.

  An arrow punched into Isho Nel’s left arm. He hissed, and the sword clattered from numbed fingers.

  “Finally,” Long grumbled, already drawing again. He loosed. Isho knocked the shot wide with his remaining blade.

  “Nice job, Long!” Ishin called, not taking his eyes off their foe.

  Only one sword left.

  Chen blurred behind Isho Nel and seized his one functional arm as he tried to bring it back. She locked in—one arm pinning his limp left shoulder, the other trapping his right forearm to his side. His glowing green sword was caught near his chest, the limb constrained to tight, awkward movements.

  “Now, Long! Kill him now!” Chen barked.

  Long nocked; embers crawled along the shaft. This was it. Isho Nel had nowhere to go.

  He reversed his grip and stabbed himself—ramming the blade through the right side of his abdomen. Chen gasped, blood spraying from her mouth as the sword erupted from her stomach. The wet sound of steel through flesh turned Ishin’s stomach.

  Long loosed with a look of horror. Chen’s grip slackened; the sword still skewered them both. Isho wrenched, twisting Chen into the arrow’s path. The flaming shaft struck her spine and detonated, charring her back.

  “No! Chen!” Long cried. He dropped to his knees, stunned by what he’d done.

  “Bastard!” Ishin shouted at Isho Nel.

  Isho yanked the sword free with a groan, blood gushing as steel slid from meat. Chen slumped to the ground behind him, screaming—burn and blade both tormenting her.

  “That’s another,” Isho gasped.

  “Isho Nel!” Ishin roared, charging the man who had killed half his friends.

  He thrust the broken spear. Isho, grimly efficient even now, swatted the strike aside with his good arm. With only one blade, at least Ishin didn’t have to fear a second edge. They traded—thrust against slash, metal clashing in a relentless rhythm that rang through the trees.

  How is he still standing?

  Ishin stabbed for Isho’s heart. Parried. The saber swept back toward him; Ishin stepped out, the poisoned green blur missing by a hand’s breadth.

  “Your poison,” Ishin demanded, locking the spearhead against the saber’s spine, teeth bared, “how are you still standing?”

  Isho shoved him off with a wheezing laugh. “You fool. It’s my poison. It can’t harm me!”

  Despite the boast, the self-inflicted wound had taken a toll. Blood streamed from the puncture; his stance wavered. A violent cough wracked him, and crimson soaked the lower bandages across his mouth. He was near death, not finished—but like any cornered beast, most dangerous now. Ishin’s duty was to put him down.

  Of course he’s immune to his own poison.

  Ishin’s thoughts flashed to Chen. She had given everything to stop Isho Nel. Now Ishin had to end it.

  “Aaagh!” He charged again, surrendering his own safety to the kill. He would end Isho Nel, no matter the cost.

  Isho braced, sword tucked for a countercut. Tendrils of shadow shot up around his ankles as Ishin closed.

  “Damn shadows,” Isho snarled.

  He hacked at the bindings—and in that opening, Ishin drove the spear down. Isho twisted, taking the stab through his already wounded shoulder. His scream tore the air.

  One more! Ishin ripped the spear free and lifted it again. His free hand shot to Isho Nel’s throat, fingers clamping hard, pinning him.

  Isho glared and drew his blade back to skewer Ishin in turn. This was it—they would both die here. Ishin welcomed it. He tightened his grip and roared, plunging the spear toward the man’s heart as Isho thrust—

  An ice shard slammed into Isho Nel’s forearm, knocking his strike awry and tearing the sword from his grasp. Ishin’s spear punched deep into Isho Nel’s chest, puncturing the heart.

  With fierce satisfaction, Ishin watched the man cough blood into his bandages. Life drained from Isho’s eyes, and Ishin held the gaze, savoring the end. Only when the last spark faded did he let go of the man’s throat, hurling the corpse to the ground—his spear still lodged in the body.

  That attack—ice!

  Panting, Ishin turned. Mei knelt nearby, pale and swaying, arm outstretched. She gave him a small nod, then let herself sag, chest heaving.

  Her robes were intact. Unharmed. But how—?

  Mei was alive.

  Ishin stared, stunned. She’s alive. But how?

  Her eyes met his. “Is he dead?” she asked between breaths.

  Ishin looked down at the body. His spear was buried to the shaft in the man’s chest. Blood pooled beneath, and most of the bandages were drenched a deep scarlet.

  “He’s dead,” Ishin confirmed. Relief flooded him; the adrenaline bled away, leaving his limbs trembling. “It’s over.”