Page 115 of Labyrinthine
“You don’t have a choice!” he yells.
Mallen steps forward, bleeding, swinging. I block—barely.
He doesn’t hold back.
There’s nothing left of the man who trained me. Only rage. Fury. Betrayal. The anger of a man who’s overcome with a darkness powerful enough to turn him into a monster.
There’s no alliance left between us. Whatever tether held us together snapped the moment I stood between him and Darian. And now, I’m not an ally, I’m a target.
Steel clashes. I push off. He follows. Faster. Wilder. I brace, twist, dodge.
This is real.
And I’m not letting him win.
I drive him back, foot by foot.
Then I strike. Upward, fast. Around. I spin and pivot—pulling him with me, away from Darian.
He doesn’t flinch. Meets me, strike for strike. We’ve done this before—but never like this. Never with blood on our blades.
“Go!” I shout to Darian. “Leave!”
Mallen surges.
I don’t back down.
He hammers against me and I match it—parry, counter, drive.
He’s stronger. Heavier.
But I’m faster.
And I’m done running.
I twist and kick. He stumbles. I press, blade flashing again and again. I don’t let up.
He trained me for this.
And now he’ll see exactly what he created.
He counters. I twist away, narrowly avoiding the blow. He wheels around—ready—but I’ve already stepped back, drawing him on.
He follows.
Behind him, the other tribute hauls Darian upright. He shouts something—I don’t listen.
“Go!” I scream again. “Get him out!”
I keep pulling Mallen with me. Deeper into the labyrinth. Into narrower passages. With no room to dodge. He presses hard—blow after blow.
Each one closer to breaking me.
He knows. So do I.
He slams his sword down. I block—barely. His blade glances off mine with brutal precision. I stumble.
His hand seizes my wrist and twists.
