The lance came at his sternum and Trafalgar turned it off the flat of Maledicta. The shock of the parry travelled up his forearm and lodged in his shoulder.
He gave ground one step. Rhavel didn't follow.
The commander withdrew instead, three paces backward, grounded the butt of the lance and stood there with his head slightly tilted. That told Trafalgar more than the thrust had. The man had spent one attack measuring him and had already got what he came for.
'He's not going to fight me yet. He's going to watch his men do it.'
Trafalgar pulled mana through his chest and called the rest of it. [Obsidian Wings]
The plates formed around him in less than a second, black obsidian closing over his spine, ribs and forearms. The surface swallowed the lamplight instead of reflecting it, each section locking into the next with a series of low clicks.
