power.
Nico sat down on the narrow stair that led up the storm wall, keeping herself well out of the way as Den’s boat hit the surf and beached itself with a terrified squeal. Twenty-six years later, his face still looked exactly like his wanted poster. Den the Warlord, traitor to the Council, the most wanted man on the continent. He was bigger than Nico had expected, taller than Josef by several inches with shoulders to match. He was dressed in the Empress’s black, but he wore no armor, just a long-sleeved sailor’s shirt, heavy woven breeches, and tall boots. His dark hair was cut ragged around his face without a trace of gray. He had no weapons, not even a knife. Instead, his hands were open, hovering ready at his sides. Even so, the sight of him was enough to make Nico cower against the rocks.
Unarmed and alone, Den radiated a killing instinct like nothing she’d ever felt, and worse, nothing she’d ever seen. The glimpse she’d caught on the boat with Josef was nothing compared to seeing him up close. She’d always thought of Tesset as a man who’d made himself iron, but Den was a man who had made himself a fortress. Now that she saw them side by side, she couldn’t help shaking. She had seen many monsters, and been many more, but not even the demon’s predatory hunger matched this man’s pure, undefiled will to kill.
Den stepped onto the surf and stopped, surveying the beach. He dismissed Nico at once, focusing on Tesset with a grin that made her chest close up.
“Tesset, wasn’t it?” Den said, looking the Council man up and down. “I thought I’d find you alive someday. Finally conquered yourself, did you?”
“Yes.” Nico was impressed by the calm determination in Tesset’s voice. “To meet you again, master. And to defeat you.”
“A worthy goal,” Den said. “I can think of none better for a bloody day like this one.” He threw out his arms, fists clenched as he grinned wide. “Come then. I let you live in the hope that one day you could give me a fight worthy of my full attention. Let’s hope you don’t disappoint me.”
Tesset smiled back, a tight, controlled turn of the mouth, and then, without warning, he charged.
Tesset flew at Den faster than wind, faster than sound, focusing all his speed, all his strength into the fist that was already inside the Warlord’s guard. Before Nico’s mind could catch up with what was happening, Tesset’s fist landed on Den’s unguarded jaw. Sand exploded as the force of Tesset’s charge and the blow at the end of it reverberated through the beach.
Nico threw her arms up, her coat swirling over her face just before the sand hit it, but behind the barrier, she was grinning. She’d felt the force of Tesset’s blow in her stomach. Famous as he was, if Den hadn’t even been able to block such a straightforward strike, maybe they weren’t in as much trouble as she’d thought. She knew Tesset’s strength firsthand. He was far stronger than he looked. Strong enough to stop her demonseed barehanded. A clean punch with that kind of strength behind it might be enough to end this fight before it started.
The wave of sand passed, and she lowered her arms, looking down the beach to see where Den had landed. But he wasn’t there. She looked around, confused, and then she saw it. Den was still standing exactly where he had been, leering at Tesset with a horrible, wolfish grin.
Tesset himself was frozen in place. He was still inside Den’s guard, his fist still resting where it had landed on Den’s jaw, but his face had changed from quiet determination to open horror. The moment Nico saw it, she knew why. She could read the thoughts in his wide eyes as clearly as print on a page. Tesset had just hit Den with his best blow. He’d hit him with his full strength, unhampered by tiredness and unspoiled by the need to dodge a defense, and nothing had happened. Den was still standing exactly as he had been before the hit. He hadn’t fallen, hadn’t stumbled, hadn’t been pushed back. He hadn’t even turned his head. He’d simply taken the blow as though it were nothing, a child’s play punch, and that realization had hit Tesset harder than any retaliation.
The seconds dragged on as the men stood there like players in a pantomime fight. Even Nico was frozen. She couldn’t help it. The idea that Tesset’s strength, the strength that had overpowered her so easily, meant nothing to Den had stopped her mind cold. All she could do was watch dumbly until, at last, Tesset stumbled back.
He fell to the sand, panting, staring up at Den with wide, unbelieving eyes. For his part, Den raised a hand to his cheek, rubbing the uninjured skin with a disappointed sneer.
“Is that it?”
It was, and they all knew it. But no one who could master his own spirit was one to give up when faced with the impossible, and Tesset was no exception. Hands clenching in the cold sand, Tesset stood up. He set his stance, his feet solid on the wet beach. His breathing steadied, calm returned, and he raised his fists to face Den again.
Den’s eyes lit with a mad gleam as he looked down on his former student. With a joyous shout, Den attacked.
Nico had never seen anything like Den’s charge. The enormous man moved like water, each step flowing into the next with the kind of speed she’d seen only in Josef when he was moving with the Heart. His feet hit the beach with such force, such precision, that the sand did not shift beneath his boots. But even as his fists came up to strike, Tesset was already moving. As Den’s foot landed to brace the blow, Tesset’s landed right beside it. He moved with Den, matching his body to the Warlord’s as he stepped inside Den’s guard. His arm moved with a speed Nico couldn’t follow to catch Den’s punch at its farthest, weakest point while his other hand landed in Den’s side, right over his liver.
Or it would have.
In the split second before Tesset’s hit connected, Den stepped back. Tesset, still holding Den’s fist, was pulled forward. He teetered a moment trying to find his balance, and in that moment, Den’s knee shot up to knock him in the jaw.
Tesset flew backward and landed sprawling on the sand. Nico held her breath, waiting for him to roll over, to cough out the blood and stand up. His jaw was almost certainly broken, but that shouldn’t have been a fight- ender, not for a man like Tesset. And yet he didn’t move. He just laid there, glassy eyes staring at the sky, his chest rising in tight little gasps, and she realized he was stunned.
Den walked across the sand, his smile fading. He bent over, grabbing the fallen man by the shoulder and lifting him with one hand until Tesset dangled in front of him. The motion must have snapped him out of his stunned state, for Tesset’s head rolled from side to side and then lifted, meeting Den’s eyes.
“It wasn’t enough,” he mumbled, blood dripping from his mouth. “Thirty years of training, becoming my own king, and still, after all that, with everything I had”—a faint smile drifted over his lips—“I lost.”
Den sneered and raised his arm, lifting Tesset’s body high over his head.
“You lost the moment you called me master.”
And with that, he slammed Tesset into the ground. Nico felt the impact through her boots. She didn’t even realize she’d run onto the beach until she was falling to her knees at Tesset’s side. He was lying on his stomach, his body half buried in the sand, perfectly still. Her hands flew to his face, turning his head, but the second she touched his skin, she knew.
Nico snatched her fingers away, letting his head fall back. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t be gone. Not like that. Not so quickly. Not Tesset. Not the man who’d stopped the demonseed with one hand.
But it was true. When she looked at him, she no longer saw a man of iron. She saw nothing but dullness, a spirit turned to dumb, dead meat. Choking back a sob, Nico moved away. This thing was not Tesset. She had seen much death in the small parts of her life she could remember, but she had never seen death, not like this, and her mind was scrambling to make sense of something a human soul was never meant to see.
“It’s a waste, really.”
Nico hadn’t even heard Den move, but he was standing over her. She tensed, but the Warlord wasn’t looking at her. He was frowning at Tesset’s body like a child examining a broken toy.
“I’d thought for sure he’d be stronger after so long,” he said bitterly. “Such a waste. Sorry, little girl.” He patted Nico on the shoulder. “I guess I’ll go and see if that swordsman can’t give me a better run.”
Nico’s arm shot up and grabbed his hand, her fingers digging into the back of his palm. She felt him tense, and then she heard his voice, very low, right beside her ear.
“You don’t want to do this,” Den whispered. “I try to fight only strong people, but I will kill you if you get in my way.”
Nico held her grip. “If you think I am weak,” she whispered back, “you are the one who will die.”
