But he was on the defensive.
The old man was fast—impossibly fast—his attacks relentless, his rhythm unbroken. A slash opened a cut on Uriel's forearm. He hissed and stepped back, blood dripping onto the floor.
Triton followed without hesitation, his presence tearing through the air like a violent storm. "You hesitate," he said, his voice cold. "Too much heart, boy. That's your weakness."
Uriel gritted his teeth and lunged.
Triton sidestepped, and Uriel's blade buried itself in the wall. He yanked it free and spun, barely blocking another strike that would have taken his head. The fight moved through the room, furniture splintering, walls cracking, dust filling the air. Uriel's breath came in ragged gasps. Triton's breathing was steady, controlled, as if this were nothing more than a morning workout.
"You've gotten slower," Triton said, circling. "Or maybe I've just gotten better."
Uriel didn't answer. He couldn't afford the breath.
