Atia's blade clanged with the crescent blade of his opponent's, blocking his strike to the warrior's open side—or it had been open until he'd moved in a blur that should be unnatural even for an Elite warrior of Silver Feather. Atia's brows furrowed.
That second of distraction cost him. He hissed as a Featherblade raked across his cheekbone, followed swiftly by another carving into his arm with the deadly whisper of steel slicing air.
With a grunt, Atia slammed his weight into the blade, piercing it through the gap between his opponent's ribs, making him cry out. Atia didn't waste any more time on him. He slammed his forehead into his nose, the bone crunching beneath the impact, wrenched his weapon free and swiped both his blades outwards, tearing through the flesh of his neck. Blood splattered across his face and aggravatingly in his hair.
