Six people in the center of the room. The sourceless light on the stone. The bunny against the wall.
Jake's feet were warm. His knuckles were split from yesterday. Kitch beside him, feathers tight. Vauren on his other side, spine straight, both arms loose.
The tall one stood across from them. The wide one to his left. The woman to his right.
Jake faced the tall one. The tall one faced him.
"You watched us," the tall one said.
"You watched us too."
"Yes."
Jake waited for more. The tall one didn't offer it. Fair enough.
"Begin," the bunny said.
Jake went right. Light at his feet, fast, closing on the woman. She was the volume — take her out and the pressure dropped.
Stone left her hands before he'd covered half the distance. Two projectiles. The first hit the floor where he'd been. The second was ahead of him. He cut left. A third stone came for the new angle. He ducked it. A fourth clipped his shoulder.
He kept going. Another stone hit the floor at his feet. Another passed his ear. She wasn't aiming where he was. She was aiming where he'd be. Every stone landed closer.
Kitch threw glass — fragments, scattered, catching the light between the woman and Jake. Her eyes tracked them. A quarter-second pause. Jake changed direction.
The wide one was moving for Kitch. Slow. Heavy. Those hands.
The tall one walked toward Vauren. Raised one hand. The air compressed. Vauren's body took it — absorbed the force, the water distributing it across his frame. He slid back. The tall one pushed again. Vauren slid again.
Jake reached the woman. She threw point-blank. He turned sideways and the stone passed his chest. He hit her. Light at his fist. She rocked back. Her other hand was already generating — a stone formed and she drove it into his ribs like a fist. Close range. The impact folded him.
He grabbed her throwing arm. She generated a stone in her trapped hand, pressed it against his forearm. The edge cut. He held on. Hit her again with his free hand. She headbutted him. His vision sparked.
Behind him — Vauren against the wall. The tall one had walked him back with steady pulses of force. Vauren's back hit stone. The tall one raised both hands.
Kitch was backing away from the wide one. Glass between them, shattering on those dense hands. Running out of room.
Jake let go of the woman. She threw immediately. The stone hit his hip. He stumbled toward Kitch.
"Switch!" Jake shouted.
He went for the wide one. Kitch broke left toward the woman. Vauren was pinned.
The wide one turned to meet Jake. One hand reaching. Jake went low, under the grab, light firing at his feet. He came up behind the wide one and hit him in the back of the head. The man's head rocked forward. He turned. Slow. Those hands reaching again.
Jake hit him again. Moved. Hit him again. Moved. The wide one couldn't track him at close range — the density that made him unstoppable made him slow. Jake circled, hit, circled, hit. Each impact jarred up through his arms. The wide one barely flinched.
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Kitch threw a pane between himself and the woman. She put a stone through it. Kitch threw another. She put a stone through that one too. He threw shards — fine, fast, aimed at her hands. Some got through. Cuts opened on her fingers. Her next throw was slower.
Vauren found his moment. The tall one pushed with both hands. Vauren stopped absorbing. Let the force take him. His body went sideways with it instead of against it, the water carrying the momentum, converting the push into lateral movement. He came off the wall at an angle the tall one hadn't pushed him toward.
One step. A compressed strike to the tall one's exposed side. The tall one buckled. Vauren hit him again. Same side. The tall one's hand came up — force caught Vauren in the chest and threw him back.
Vauren hit the floor. Rolled. Came up.
The tall one was hurt. His left side. He adjusted his stance, guarding it.
Jake saw it. Kitch saw it. The tall one's left side was open when he pushed with both hands. The force required his full attention. He couldn't push and guard at the same time.
Jake left the wide one. Ran at the tall one. Light blazing.
The tall one turned. Force pulse. Jake took it in the chest. His feet left the ground. He hit stone. Got up. Ran again.
Vauren came from the other side. The tall one couldn't push both directions. He chose Jake. The force hit Jake again. Jake went down again. Vauren reached him. Compressed strike to the left side. The tall one dropped to one knee.
The wide one's hand closed on Jake's ankle from behind. He'd crossed the room while Jake was focused on the tall one. The grip tightened. The density crushed. Jake felt the bones in his ankle compress.
He kicked with his other foot. Light fired at the sole. The flash hit the wide one's face. The grip loosened. Jake pulled free.
The woman hit Vauren with a stone in the back. He went forward. The tall one, still on one knee, pushed. The force caught Vauren mid-stumble. He flew. Hit the wall. Slid down.
Kitch was alone against the woman. He'd cut her hands, slowed her output. But she was still throwing. He couldn't close. He couldn't block. He was surviving, not winning.
Jake stood on a bad ankle. The tall one was getting up. The wide one was turning toward him. Vauren was against the wall, moving but slow.
The tall one stood. They faced each other. Blood on both of them. The tall one raised his hands.
Force hit Jake from the front. The wide one hit him from behind. He went down and stayed down. The stone was warm against his face. He tried to get up. His arms pushed. His ankle screamed. He got one knee under him.
The wide one put a hand on his shoulder. The weight of it pressed him flat.
Jake on the ground. Vauren against the wall. Kitch's feathers were flat, his talons had gouged the stone. Glass hung in the air around him, a dozen shards, sharp, ready.
He let them fall.
Jake lay on the stone. The weight lifted off his shoulder. He rolled over. Grey ceiling. Flat light. His ankle was wrong. His ribs were wrong again. His face was bleeding from the floor.
A hand appeared above him.
The tall one. Blood on his lip where Jake had hit him. Blood on his side where Vauren had found the gap. He stood over Jake with his hand out and nothing in his face that looked like winning.
Jake took the hand.
The tall one pulled him up. Jake's ankle buckled. The tall one held him steady until he found his balance.
"Your feet," the tall one said. "I've never seen anything like that."
"Thanks. Your everything. I've never felt anything like that."
The tall one's mouth moved. It might have been a smile. He let go of Jake and walked to his team.
Vauren was standing. He was always standing. His left shoulder was rolled forward — something new from the wall impact. He straightened it with a sharp motion that cost him, visibly.
Kitch walked over. His right arm hung wrong from the wide one's grip in an earlier exchange. The feathers were slowly loosening.
Three of them. Beaten. Bleeding.
"Can you turn your head all the way around?" Jake asked Kitch.
Kitch went still. Both eyes locked on Jake.
"Because I don't want to look at those three right now and I need someone to tell me what they're doing."
Kitch's head rotated. Far enough that Jake's neck ached watching it. The amber eyes tracked the other team across the room.
"The tall one is sitting down. The wide one is looking at his hands. The woman is wrapping her fingers where I cut them." He paused. "They look tired."
"Good."
Vauren adjusted his shoulder again. "We lost."
"Yeah."
"The Lindrith line has not lost in seven generations."
Vauren's face was giving nothing. The black eyes were steady. The green hair was matted with sweat and there was blood at his temple and his shoulder was wrong and he had never once slouched.
"How's that feel?" Jake said.
Vauren was quiet for a moment. "Informative."
Jake laughed. His ankle protested. His ribs protested. He laughed anyway, the sound bouncing off the grey walls the way it had on the first day, and Kitch's feathers shifted and his eyes narrowed and beside them Vauren stood with blood on his face and his spine straight and something in his expression that was almost, from a certain angle, amusement.