The darkness pressing down on the plaza felt heavy, saturated with the metallic reek of fresh blood and the bitter tang of ozone.
A split second later, Morgan pushed forward.
His boots skidded over the slick, rain-dampened marble as he drove his weight behind a brutal, sweeping strike.
The broadsword cleaved through the air, whistling toward her shoulder.
The deadly woman, like a ghostly phantom, twisted aside.
The movement was unnervingly fluid, a testament to what was surely a battle art honed through a myriad oflife-and-deathh battles.
It was a practiced, effortless pivot that left only the whisper of silk brushing against cold iron.
"Seriously..."
Despite his thoughts, Morgan didn't stall. He followed instantly, letting the momentum of his failed strike roll through his shoulders to launch a violent horizontal slash.
She simply ducked.
The silver arc of his blade shaved a single strand of dark hair from her head, sending it floating into the stagnant air.
