The Dance of the Keepers

Chapter 46 The Choice

There was a moment where we all stood motionless and a silent acknowledgment passed through our midst. An apology of sorts, for what was about to happen. A free for all was just what it sounded like, we had our weapons and our wielding abilities, now we had to take each other out in whatever way we could until only four of us remained. It would be bloody; it would be brutal.

Vega was the first to attack, her vines snaking towards Randon who crushed them with a large chunk of granite. Teagan and Anya must have decided they were a good team because they suddenly were working together, going after the Fire Wielder, Emma.

Hawk leapt at me with three vicious looking swords at the ready, one in each hand and one poised above his head. He was a Iron Wielder I recalled from reading the files, something I hadn't been tested against yet.

I quickly discovered dodging three blades is trickier than what it might sound. If it hadn't been for my wind keeping that third sword at bay, I would have been impaled within sixty seconds. I drew a small dagger and plunged it into his thigh in one quick motion, scrambling back out of the way before he could retaliate. He grunted and ripped the knife from his flesh, chucking it to the side. Though he walked with a noticeable limp now, it hadn't slowed him down as much as I had hoped.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Emma collapse to the ground held by a rope while water poured into her mouth, drowning her on dry land. Five down, I thought with a shudder.

My attention returned to my more immediate issue, and I barely dodged a deadly slice. The clanging of our steel added to the cacophony of sounds that were filling the arena. Screams, shouts, a crack of lighting, the spray of water, the rumble of stone, and the cheers and cries of the audience above us, just to name off a few. It was mass chaos as we all struggled for our lives.

Hawk's blade ripped across my stomach but Wade Denton's creation worked better than armor, not giving way to the sharp metal so easily. I managed to knock the sword from Hawk's left hand, but he merely conjured up another a moment later. I blasted him backward and though he stumbled, he righted himself quickly. I advanced, shoving him forcefully into retreat. He sent a spray of iron shards my direction that I flung to the side with a gust of wind without a second thought. He dug his feet into the ground, determined to withstand my wind. For a split second, I released him to catch my breath, however, that was the opening he had been waiting for. He lunged forward and tackled me to the ground, knocking my sword out of my hand and kicking it away. He sneered at me, raising his blade for a killing blow.

Thinking fast, I wiggled my fingers a couple of inches over to where my pouch of gray sand hung off my waist. I gripped it tightly, popping the cork off with one finger. With a deftness that surprised even me, I blew the dust into his eyes. Whatever Wade had put in that bottle was definitely not sand I decided a moment later when Hawk rolled off of me, screaming hysterically and clawing at his face. Blood trickled down his cheeks, a sight that nearly made me lose my breakfast right then and there.

"Make it stop! Make it stop!"
He shrieked.

I retrieved my sword, watching him for a moment before plunging the steel into his heart with a sickening crunch. He stumbled backward, then thudded to the ground like a lead weight. His breathing was labored for an agonizing moment before he gave himself up to the release of death. I couldn't take my eyes off him, my mind taking a snapshot of his body to haunt me with later. Hawk Torres was added to the growing list of names I would carry with me for the rest of my life.

"I'm sorry."
I whispered, hating what the arena was forcing me to become.

What would my sister think of me now? I hadn't kept my promise, they'd changed me, and I'd let them.