Kruel looked at the axe buried between his feet that lucas had thrown.
The blade had gone three inches into the alien stone, the handle still vibrating from the throw, blue electricity crackling outward from the impact point in thin branching lines. He looked at it the way you looked at something that had just told you something about the person who threw it.
He looked up at Jayden.
Jayden was already gone from where he had been standing.
He was behind Kruel's left wing, inside the span of it, the one place the wing couldn't sweep without Kruel folding it inward, and the Descending Dragon was at its eleventh consecutive hit, the chain between the staffs running so hot the alien air around it had gone from distorted to luminous, a faint visible glow extending a meter in every direction from the weapon.
He drove the hot staff into the joint where the left wing met Kruel's back.
