For the first pass I lunged, swift and low, testing his reactions. Garrett was a big man, Malphael even bigger. While the Gibburim didn’t have to worry too much about physical barriers like the ceiling and walls, Garrett did. I drove him back past the archway that opened on the dining room, hoping to limit his mobility. There wasn’t a whole lot of room to maneuver in the hall. He dodged with unhurried grace, taking a step back but working it into a swift turn so he retained a clear angle on the opening. All the while he kept that cleaving length of blackened steel angled across his body, warding off any easy strikes. He had to expose himself to swing the blade, but the thing had such a massive reach, my head and shoulders would be wide open even if I tried ducking to get under his attack. We made a few more passes, each studying the other, neither fully committing to any strike. I fell back, keeping my body low, and readjusted my grip on my blades. The power singing through them thrummed all the way up my arms, focused by the endless repetition of three potent syllables in the substrata of my mind.
