Page 113 of Labyrinthine
He’s what I’ve feared in every shadow and the darkness my magic couldn’t bear to name.
“He’s filled this place with rot,” Darian says. “He’ll do the same to Starsfall. To you.”
Mallen’s blade trembles once, and then he roars. He lunges—no control. No tactic. Just rage.
Darian meets him head-on. Steel flashes. Mallen’s momentum carries him too far, his footing misjudged. He twists mid-motion, barely dodging a blade aimed to take his heart.
His feet skid. He spins and tries to recover.
Darian doesn’t let him.
Strike. Block. Strike again.
Darian drives Mallen back. Step by step. His blade never slows, never hesitates. Mallen’s foot grazes stone, shoulder brushing the rough curve of the labyrinth wall. Another step, and there’ll be nowhere left to go.
He won’t survive.
Not without killing Darian.
They clash again—metal biting metal—each strike faster, heavier. Then something shifts. Mallen pivots. Regains footing. Pressure changes. Darian’s forced to yield, to give space. He’s retreating now, breath shallow as Mallen surges forward.
I don’t move. Not yet. It’s madness in front of me. Even thinking of stepping in is lunacy. Their blades want blood, and I don’t know whose they’ll draw first.
A blur—Darian staggers back. Mallen throws him off, hard enough to send dust spiraling into the air. Another figure leaps in—one of the others, grabbing Mallen’s arm, trying to hold him off just long enough for Darian to recover.
It works.
It shouldn’t.
Mallen should’ve ended it.
Darian catches my eye as he straightens. He knows it. We both do.
He lifts his chin and steps toward me. Just a fraction. Just enough.
Mallen sees.
His heel slams into the other tribute’s chest, sending him crashing into stone. Mallen twists, grabs Darian, and hurls him sideways. A blur of limbs and air. Darian crashes into the ground, dust clouding around him.
And then?—
Mallen waits.
Sword ready. Muscles taut. But still.
He waits.
No strike. No advantage taken.
Honor. Of all things, it’s that.
He should’ve finished it. He’s trained me never to hesitate. But here he is—offering mercy.
I don’t understand it, and yet, I do.
Darian drags himself to his feet and points past Mallen, past everything, to me.
“Destroy him,” he calls. “End it, Azhara. That’s your freedom. He’ll take everything if you don’t.”
