Free The Manticore Ascension: A Short Story in the Arena Mode Universe by Blake Northcott

glittering talons; fingernails hardened to steel, curving wickedly as they elongated. He leaped, impossibly high, and sailed down towards Drake.
    The frozen knight spun his sword overhead, clashing with all ten blades.
    The soldier scraped and clawed at a furious pace. Drake guided his weapon effortlessly through the air, blocking every attack. Coming in a rapid-fire pace, each clang was matched with a burst of light, sparking like firecrackers in the moonlight.
    With a labored scream, Drake broke his legs free and threw a well-placed boot into the soldier’s midsection, his foot still encased in a jagged block of ice. He followed with a swift forward thrust. The tip of his blade burst from the back of the soldier’s helmet, dropping him to the floor.
    The other soldier lunged with an icy dagger overhead, but was met with another stoke of the knight’s sword, so sudden that I wasn’t even sure it had connected...until the soldier’s torso toppled to the ground while his legs – and half of his midsection – remained upright.
    A second wave of soldiers rushed to attack. Ten, maybe twelve. Taktarov extended his palm and they froze, stopping in mid-stride as if they’d been caught by Medusa’s gaze. Russia’s Son has that much influence over them; it was both fascinating and disturbing to witness. They backpedaled without instruction, falling swiftly and silently back into formation.
    “Enough of this,” Taktarov ordered, turning his furious red gaze towards Drake.
    The knight screamed once again, a hoarse battle cry, his breath visible in the night air. He’d lunged just a few steps when a pair of pencil-thin beams flashed through the chamber, slicing his sword in two.
    The glowing lasers that had burst from Taktarov’s eyes were meant to stop Drake from approaching, not kill. It was a warning shot; a courtesy I was surprised to see the Russian extend. At that range he certainly didn’t have to miss. And it stopped the knight in his tracks.
    Drake dropped the remains of his sword, letting it clang to the stone below. Brow tightly knitted, teeth grinding, I was surprised he had the composure to remain still. He must have known he was outmatched.
    Taktarov refocused on me, ignoring the plumes of smoke that seeped from his eyelids. “As you were saying?”
    “No one is ever going to let me be part of House Lehmann. But you –” I extended my hand. “You’ll accept me for what I am.”
    He took my hand and shook it, nearly shattering my bones without even applying pressure. It was like having my palm trapped in a vice.
    The swirling red glow faded from his eyes, replaced with a steely grey. “You will be rewarded,” he nodded.
    “Don’t do this, Brynja!” The panicked words echoed from behind me, and I turned to see Dawson scrambling across the corridor, completely unarmed.
    Taktarov’s eyes glowed once again in preparation to fire.
    I ripped the ring from my thumb, screaming as the flesh tore from my bone. I lobbed it towards Taktarov’s face before ghosting, narrowly avoiding the concussive blast that exploded around us. The disruptor ring blew apart with the force of a thermal grenade, knocking Drake, Dawson and most of the soldiers to their backs. Even the floor beneath us had been blown to pieces, leaving us ankle-deep in a pile of shattered marble.
    But when the smoke settled, Taktarov hadn’t moved – even his cape was perfectly intact.
    The Russian’s eyes intensified, filled with contempt. “You liar . You’re no better than these disgusting humans. Worth no more than –” he stopped mid–sentence and squinted sharply, bringing a finger to his temple.
    “I wasn’t lying about being able to read minds,” I said flatly. “In fact, I know what you’re thinking right now. You’re wondering why you have a killer migraine ...”
    “A...what –?” He stumbled backwards, wincing in pain.
    “And now you’re thinking, ‘Wait, wasn’t this lying, blue–haired wench wearing a necklace,