“He just said it himself; he can’t kill me,” I said, raising Reese’s sword. “Isn’t that right?”
Trace smirked. “Kill? No. Maim? Well, let’s just see how things go. Shall we?”
“Screw this.” Mark suddenly flew past me, ready to nail Trace with his bat. His friend laughed, effortlessly ducking. McDowell flew past him, clumsily trying to regain his footing.
“Nice try.” Trace brought up his axe, all set to drop it right into Mark’s shoulder blades. The hatchet swung back around however just as Reese’s dagger came hurtling at him. The bit clipped with the blade, and the momentum sent the dagger flying up into the bleachers. Reese charged him. Trace parried the strike, the top of the axe connecting with Reese’s sword. Spinning the axe over his head, he hammered it down at Blackburn, and the profound force sent Reese’s fighting arm to the floor. Trace made a line drive at him, and Reese somersaulted sideways, sprawling out on the tiles.
“Just like old times,” Bolton snickered. “Only this time, I’m the one who’ll be knocking your teeth out. Right after I rip out your spine."
Mark took another swing, but Trace leveled his axe right at the sweet spot of the baseball bat. The wood cracked in half, leaving Mark with not much more than a nub. Reese sprang up from the ground, throwing another dagger at him. It lacked any real accuracy, but that wasn’t the point. It took Trace’s attention away from Mark, who was now defenseless. Blackburn wasted no time reengaging Bolton, and Trace’s blasé manner only made the magician imprudent in his strikes. He needed to pace himself. Despite his bulky build, Bolton glissaded in every step with perfect form. Meanwhile, Reese was rushing, meeting too many close calls.
Trace hurled the axe down again, primed at Reese’s head. Mark threw the remainder of his bat at Bolton’s face, giving Reese just that split second he needed to sidestep the strike. The axe barreled down into the floor, crushing right through the tiles. Reese swung at him, but Trace deflected, hauling up the axe once again. Blackburn barely managed to raise the sword in time, catching the top of the axe right on the end of the blade. Bolton pressed down further, and it proved to be too much. Reese couldn’t hold the weight. The axe dug right into his left shoulder.
Any rationality I had was gone as I ran right for him.
“No!” Reese begged me. “Go!”
Trace nailed the heel of his foot right into Reese’s chest. The force set the steel tearing out of his flesh, and the air was knocked out of his lungs before Reese had the chance to scream.
“What’s the matter, Houdini? You should be used to getting your ass kicked by now,” Bolton laughed, grabbing Reese off the floor by the front of his jacket. He threw the magician like he was nothing more than a sack of flour.
Reese’s thin frame crashed into the bleachers, and his body fell limp.
I charged at Trace, viciously swinging at him as hard and as fast as I could. Bolton only continued to laugh, somehow managing to grip the hilt of the sword. When it was made clear I wouldn’t let it go, Trace shoved me back. The colossal force sent me hurtling across the slick tile, and I only stopped upon slamming into the far wall. I tried catching my breath so I could stand, but I just croaked on a strangled gasp.
“Who’s next?” Bolton looked to Mark, seeing him still without a weapon. He snickered, actually tossing aside his axe. “Come on, McDowell. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The linebacker rushed at Trace, preparing to tackle him with an annihilating blow that left even the best players on the football field buried in the ground. He extended his hands and drove them upward across Trace’s chest, ready to demolish him with maximum leverage. Instead, it was like he hit a brick wall. The moment Mark collided with Trace, neither moved. Mark’s feet scraped against the ground, trying to gain an inkling of momentum, but Trace still didn’t budge.
Bolton raised his arms above Mark’s hold, driving his elbows down onto his friend’s upper back. The impact sent Mark crumpling into the ground with a wheeze. Trace booted him over with a snicker, effortlessly snatching a hold of the metal pole that came hurtling right at the back of his head. He turned around, twisting the pole right out of Carly’s grasp.
He howled with laughter. “Really? That’s the best you’ve got?” Trace grabbed the bar with both hands and snapped it over his knee like it was made of straw. “‘If she only had a brain,’” he singsonged.
“Speak for yourself,” I sneered, finally staggering back up to my feet. I swung the blade at him. The weight of the steel made me undoubtedly clumsy, but I kept slicing it through the air every time Trace teased us with a step closer.