The moment they charged, Azhriel's gaze narrowed.
He didn't move at first. He simply waited, looking at them as they charged ferally.
Then—step.
He vanished from their line of sight for a split second, reappearing just to their side, sword unsheathed in a smooth flash of silver-blue light.
Frost Born sang through the air, the chill trailing its edge like breath in winter.
Clang!
The brown haired was barely able to react, as his blade clashed with him, however Azhriel strength overpowered him.
With a twist of his wrist, he knocked the sword off its line and slammed the hilt into the boy's gut.
Thud.
"Argh."
The boy fell to one knee, winded.
The second, one with black hair came from the side, spear ready—but he was slower.
Azhriel spun, letting the cold mist from his sword expand outward. The mist thickened just enough to obscure vision, and then—crack.
