The first few cuts across Sylas' body should have annoyed him, yet the moment warm blood slid down his forearm and another thin line opened across his ribs, the exact opposite happened.
Something inside him that had been quiet for too long finally stirred, and the reason he had been excited from the beginning returned with enough force that his blood seemed to heat beneath his skin.
What Sylas feared more than pain, more than death, was reaching a point where there was nothing left capable of forcing him to grow.
Tomoe was doing exactly that.
Worse, or perhaps better, she wasn't remaining still while he adapted to her. Every exchange stripped another layer of rust from her movements, every clash awakened something else that had gone dormant.
Looking at her started to feel uncomfortably familiar. It was like staring into a mirror.
