Page 13 of The King has Fallen (The Kingdom of the Krow #1)

SOUNDTRACK: Looking at the Devil by Seibold, Neutopia, and Leslie Powell

~ MELEK ~

I whirled, bringing the spear up instinctively, yet barely brought it to bear in time to stop the dagger flashing towards my back.

With a grunt, I whipped the handle of the spear up to push that blade up and away, but my adversary’s movements were quick.

I’d barely blocked one blow when another came and there was never a moment to bring my own blade to bear, to stage an attack and put my foe on the defensive.

Once, twice, three times I defended against a new slash—with only a hairsbreadth of space before that blade would slide between my ribs, or across my shoulder.

Yilan was hissing warnings, but there was no space in my head to even take in the words as every instinct for combat I’d ever honed as a warrior, every defensive reflex, took over. Somehow, impossibly, I kept that blade at bay, but everything in my head screamed that something was wrong.

With a long-handled weapon I should not have such trouble defeating a dagger—yet somehow, impossibly, I couldn’t quite see my foe.

He had the form of a tall man—though trim and wiry—still a foot shorter than me. But it was as if his every existence was shrouded in shadow. Even when he moved, I couldn’t keep eyes on him, my gaze sliding sickeningly past each time I tried to focus and anticipate his next move.

I took a step back to give myself more room to maneuver, to bring the spear head to bear, but found myself still defending a volley of stabs and slashes. If I was even half a second slower on any of them—

I had the presence of mind on the next defense, to turn my wrist, and as I blocked, in that split second that my spear handle connected with his blade, I twirled and flipped the spear, sending it in an arc that rang against the assassin’s wrist.

There was a hissed curse, and the flash of that dagger flying through the air, the light from the lantern gleaming on it.

I smiled and took a firmer hold on the spear, ready to take action—then was forced to shove it aside to block a second dagger he’d already drawn and stabbed straight for my throat.

What the hell was he, and how did he move like a striking snake?

“Focus on the weapon, not on him—he can’t affect that!” Yilan

There wasn’t time to think, but I tried to do as she said, and kept my eyes fixed on the blade rather than trying to read the adversary. And for a time it worked.

We circled the tent, grunting, thrusting our weapons, the clanging of my spear against his blade singing in the night air more than once. But he did not slow.

There were excellent fighters among the Nephilim, and I had been honing my already superior skills in battle for months.

Yet, this was the first time in years I felt truly pushed to my back foot—not just in danger, but losing the fight.

This enemy moved like a snake, and made no mistakes.

While I had been awake for most of two days, and just spent an entire night in dance and play. I was weary, and taken utterly off-guard. And my foe was… something I could not understand.

I snarled when he feinted, sending the blade towards my throat again—only to drop it and slash for my guts the moment I lifted an elbow too high.

Yilan gasped as I was forced to throw myself backwards bodily to avoid that blade. Something caught my heel and I was falling, thudding to the earth and rolling immediately, feeling the rush of air at my neck and shoulder as my adversary dove with that blade just a blink too late to plunge it into my throat—but not too slow to slam a foot down on my fist where it clamped around my spear.

With a bellow of pain, I released it and rolled to stand, crouching, defensive—but weaponless, and with that… thing coming at me.

I could not see his face, shrouded as it was in that inexplicable darkness, but I heard his hiss of triumph, and then the voice that sounded like the crumble of rotting flesh seemed to ripple along the ceiling of the tent. “The great General Melek, finally bested. Let the world take note.”

I sank deeper in my crouch and prayed for mercy as he leaped for me, blade high and flashing straight for my chest—

“MELEK!”

It happened faster than a blink.

I dropped to roll towards the cage at the same moment Yilan threw me her spear. It clapped into my palm the same moment I unfurled to come up on one knee with the spear angled up just as my foe descended—and it took him straight in the throat.

I felt the force of him impaled on it and snarled as he froze, arms akimbo, while I gripped the wooden handle of the spear, thrusting it up and forward with all my strength to make certain his spinal cord was severed, feeling more than seeing the moment his body gave because of those blasted shadows.

But then the shadows blinked out of existence, and for half a breath I knelt, bracing the spear, gaping at a very normal looking human man, his eyes wide with shock.

He dropped the dagger and both hands came to the spear as he instinctively fought to pull himself off it.

But I growled and did not give, and a moment later, his hands went limp, his shoulders dropped, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

His body shuddered, and then he was deadweight on the end of my spear.

I didn’t move immediately, still kneeling there with the butt of the spear braced on the dirt, watching this creature, waiting for the deception.

The only sound in the tent was my heaving breath.

Then, finally, just as I accepted that I’d won, that he was in fact dead, a foul smell filled the tent.

From the place right in his throat where the spear pierced him, black decay began to crawl through his veins and across his skin—and he began to crumble into rot.

With a startled cry I yanked the spear back—and he broke apart, his disintegrating carcass falling aside as he slid to the dirt. The rancid stench of putrefying meat filled the tent as his entire body blackened, shriveled, then desiccated right in front of my eyes.

“What…?” I breathed, pushing to my feet and stumbling back, coughing against the acrid vapor rising from the lump that was all that remained of him.

But there was no answer.

Seconds later he was gone… the only evidence that he’d existed were his shirt, leathers, and that dagger making a wrinkled pile on the dirt.

Even the vapor was gone.

I stood in an empty tent, staring at the crumpled pile, wide-eyed, heart pounding, but hands empty at my sides.

“What the fuck was that?!” I breathed.

I hadn’t expected an answer, clawed both hands into my hair, and startled when her voice reminded me that Yilan was also there and had witnessed that whole scene.

“A Shade,” she whispered. I snapped my head to look at her and our eyes locked—and I saw reflected in hers the same horror crawling in my veins. She broke the gaze to look at that pile of clothes and swallowed audibly. “That was a fucking Shade, Melek.”