JJ really didn’t want to hurt these Wielders. They’d done more for Yoularnon today than the Peace Keepers had done in weeks! But if he didn’t, he could say farewell to his brief infiltration. That would be worse for the city, in the long run.
JJ took a deep breath. It was time to pull some punches.
The Flame Dancer charged as Dearil flung his robes aside. Hidden within were dozens of knives lining his vest. He grabbed two and threw them. They swished through the air as the blades spun toward their mark. The Dancer slid between them, moving the fire to his left hand.
“Flame Stream!” the Dancer yelled.
A single, intense orange flame rocketed from his palm. Imari stepped forward, splashing water from a canteen and expanding it. A liquid wall formed a barrier, but the intense flame shot clean through it. The temperature spiked and JJ leaped away from the flames.
Asaka thrusted his palm toward the floor, and Dearil flicked his wrists back. The Dancer grunted, falling to one knee, as the knives behind him followed their previous route, aiming for his back. The Dancer fell forward, hitting the ground faster and harder than was natural, bracing himself with his arms. Dearil’s chucked another knife toward the Dancer’s neck.
JJ stepped forward, his heart thumping. He couldn’t create a wind fast enough to stop–
The Dancer pushed up, inclining half-a-foot so the knife hit the ground, while avoiding the spinning daggers overhead. The Dancer gripped the knife on the floor with a blazing hand.
“Distracting Fireball!” the Dancer roared.
A bright flame arched toward Asaka, who dove aside. The Dancer vaulted to his feet and resumed his charge.
Incredible. All that had taken place in seconds, much faster than JJ could react. That Flame Dancer must have had some form of intense training – much more than JJ had, at least.
So much for not wanting to hurt them. It would be a miracle if JJ left this unscathed, even while his group outnumbered them.
Speaking of them, where was the Wave Leaper?
Using the Flame Dancer as a distraction, it seemed. As the Dancer charged, Imani’s previous water – gathered at the floor – weaved upward in thin tendrils and whipped at all four of them.
“Gah!” JJ cried, the stinging slap of water reddening his skin.
His lungs depressed and winds flailed around him, forming a spherical shield. Instead of scattering like he’d hoped, streams flowed alongside the wind, bending and weaving as it followed the current, reaching closer to JJ.
In a panic, JJ shot winds from his body in all directions. That scattered the water, but it also buffeted Imani, who dropped the ice she’d been creating.
“Watch it,” Imani said, whipped with another water tendril at her temple.
“Sorry,” JJ said, getting smacked in the calf.
The Flame Dancer reached Dearil and Asaka, sending a flurry of kicks and punches, fire shooting out with each one. To their credit, Dearil and Asaka matched his form, but were unable to land blows due to the flames enshrouding his body. Plenty of water whips assailed them, too.
“Take her out,” Asaka said, pushing his arm downward. The Leaper knelt. “Now.”
Imani dashed toward the Leaper, who was struggling to rise. The Leaper didn’t seem as well-trained as the Dancer. She also seemed the more level-headed of the two. If he had to talk to either of them – either to warn or recruit them – it would be better done with her.
His winds propelling him forward, he followed Imani to assault the Wave Leaper.
Peace-Keeper martial art forms, ingrained into Mav through rigorous daily training, provided him two keen insights: one, all that hard work had paid off, allowing Mav to flow from one stance to the next, rocketing flames with each punch and kick, and helping him keep his composure while fighting multiple skilled enemies; and two, there was no way he could win a prolonged fight against these two.
Mav adopted Inferno Dance – his go-to form for a quick, decisive victory. It was fast and intense, keeping him on the offensive, forcing his opponents to stay away lest the smallest blow burn them. It was meant to speedily conclude a fight, or at least wear down the opponent so Mav could breach their defenses. A clean hit was all he would need after that.
But these two...
The dark-haired one flicked his wrist. A sudden weight pulled on Mav’s forearm, forcing his strike to veer right. Another flick dragged Mav’s leg down an inch as he went to kick the white-haired one, allowing the tall man to jump aside before the flames engulfed him. The white-haired man flung another knife, which Mav parried with the knife he’d taken, the one which refused to even glow with heat – made from tungsten, most likely. The other knife hit the floor, then reversed its path. Mav hopped, then struck at the dark-haired one with a palm, only to be shoved back an inch and miss his mark.
Mav growled, frustration spreading alongside the chill over his body. As it stood, Mav’s aggressive attacks forced them on the defensive, but their constant evasion was wearing him down. Inferno Dance required precision; if he lost that, he lost this fight.
Keep control. Mav lunged toward the dark-haired one, slamming his foot into the ground.
“Small Impact!”
A blast flung the man to the side, where Mav was slashing with his knife. Before he cut the man, however, the knife flung from Mav’s grip. It flew through the air, stopping and then going in different directions. Mav lunged forward, away from the flailing airborne knife, and reached for the dark-haired man.
Another force pushed against him, holding him at bay, but his flames finally found their fuel. The man’s cloak ignited, but he didn’t so much as grunt as he hit the ground and cast the cloak away. Quick steps and a swoosh from behind drew Mav’s attention. The white-haired man was close, stabbing at Mav with the knife he’d plucked from the air. Mav turned to slap the knife away with a backhand, but a pressure pulled on him, letting the knife sail closer to Mav’s ribs.
Mav hardly had time to breathe, let alone shout a move’s name. His body’s temperature plummeted; explosive flames blasted from his every pore. The boom echoed through the tunnel. It knocked JJ, who was fighting Maren alongside the cloaked woman a short distance away, off his feet.
Mav’s opponents stood on either side of him, at least ten feet away. Their clothes were smoldering and they sported small red patches along their skin from Mav’s fire. They looked worse than Mav, but the chill reached Mav’s limbs; his moves would be slower, more erratic. Meanwhile, their demeanor was calm, their breathing easy.
“Dearil,” the dark-haired one said, “he’s earned my respect.”
“I agree,” the white-haired one, Dearil, said. “So, are you ready?”
“Of course,” the dark-haired one said. “I’m tired of going easy on him.”
Mav smirked. “Was just thinking the same thing.”