I could’ve easily won by keeping my
distance. Pyreans had nothing on Storm Riders when it came to fighting at a
distance. Lightning would cross in an instant, too, no chance of dodging. But I
wanted the close combat. I wanted to know how to hold my own up close, and
without the home court advantage.
I pulled my board from around my
back, and darted forward, looking a lot like the Silver Surfer from comics as I
leaned in. Again, I avoided the lightning, not just because it felt like
cheating, but because it tended to use a lot of my own energy. I could hold
more wind than lightning, so I let the wind circle my fists in tight bands,
weaving them into a pattern. It wasn’t solid, like my wall had been. This was
something else.
Carl hadn’t been idle, though,
getting airborne on his jets again. I didn’t see any kind of obvious attack,
but I knew he had to have something ready.
My instinct said to make the first
move, to blow him out of the sky and neutralize him before he could attack. I
could probably do it, but that was Jack’s way. His words came to mind again
from our training. “Hit first, hit hard,
then hit the buffet.”
I didn’t.
Carl closed, then pulled out a blue
hot sword out of nowhere. I had seen that sword before, saw it cut through an
otherworldly thing like a laser
through Jell-O.
Must’ve
pissed him off. Probably not for hurting me, I hope. But it’ll cut through any
kind of attack or defense I bring up. A sword of lightning would probably block
it, but I don’t know how to make one, even after weeks of Jack trying to show
me.
I pivoted on my board, feinting a
dodge even as I lashed out with bands of wind. They snaked out instead of
jetted, curling around unpredictably. He cut through two of them with a swipe
of his sword, but two others reached him. Instead of hitting him like a blow,
they coiled around, one around his sword arm, the other around his torso.
I poured more wind into those
bands, taking them from thick rope to giant pool noodles wrapped tightly around
him. His sword arm was completely immobilized, and I was squeezing the air from
his torso.
“Point, Reilly.”