Ruban snarled, redoubling his assault. He unleashed a flurry of hacking and slashing maneuvers, trying to push Shwaan off the parapet.

He wanted to take this battle into the skies.

Shwaan dropped off the parapet, his wings flaring.

In one swift motion, Ruban vaulted after him.

Shwaan twisted midair, narrowly evading the reinforced sifblade that hacked at him. But he’d foreseen Ruban’s move. And he wasn’t going to repeat the same mistake twice in one night.

If he let Ruban draw him out into the open skies, one of two things would happen. The Hunter would either plunge to his death, taking a few of the annoying rioters out with him. Or, he’d manage to seize Shwaan in the air and hold on, like he had done a few minutes ago. Airborne, Shwaan would have little leverage with which to try and throw him off. Plus, he couldn’t use an energy-shell on a target attached to his own body.

And considering the mood Ruban was in, he wouldn’t forego the next opportunity to slit Shwaan’s throat with his reinforced sifblade.

Ruban’s fingers clenched around Shwaan’s ankle, even as his other hand snagged the hem of his feather cloak.

Shwaan whirled, flying straight back to the roof.

When Ruban realized what was happening, his fingers tightened further around Shwaan’s ankle. But by then it was too late, and they both knew it. He didn’t have enough time to clamber upward, and if he let go, he’d fall to his death.

Hanging from Shwaan’s feet, the Hunter collided headfirst with the parapet.

Momentum dragged him over the concrete barrier and back into the roof proper.

Shwaan thrashed his legs, causing Ruban to crash into the parapet once more. Ruban’s fingers slackened and he dropped to the floor, sagging against the concrete at his back.

Shwaan hovered over him, airborne, for a few seconds – his posture alert and vigilant. When Ruban didn’t move, he extended a hand, calling the ambient energy to his fingertips.

Just as a tiny shell began to take shape, Ruban’s hand jerked back. His movements were sharp, agile. He flung the reinforced sifblade at Shwaan.

Shwaan dove, trying to get away, but Ruban’s aim was impeccable.

Like a homing projectile, the reinforced sifblade sliced through the air until it’d struck its mark.

It cleaved through the edge of Shwaan’s hand, rending one side of the palm open with a jagged, visceral gash. The light pouring from the wound illuminated the night sky, sending the protestors gathered below into a frenzy.

An agonized cry escaped Shwaan’s lips. He beat his wings rapidly, the strokes erratic yet powerful.

Stolen novel; please report.

But Ruban didn’t give him a chance to retreat. Springing to his feet, he lunged at Shwaan, his regular sifblade in one hand and a sifkren in the other.

The next few minutes were a whirlwind of blades and feathers and light. Even as he fought, Shwaan could feel the energy drain out of him. And every time one of Ruban’s blades connected with his skin, it wrested a little more of that vitality from his veins.

Finally, a hundred lacerations across his body spilling light, Shwaan spread his wings and leapt off the edge of the roof.

He zigzagged through the air, trying to make pursuit as hard as possible. He no longer had the energy left to fight, so the next best option was to make a temporary escape and lick his wounds.

Needless to say, the Hunter had other ideas.

He leapt from roof to roof, making use of the densely-packed buildings to keep up with Shwaan.

Every few seconds a sifkren flew at him, forcing Shwaan to slow down and pivot, in order to avoid being hit. He soared higher, trying to get out of Ruban’s strike range.

Vaulting from one rooftop to the next, Ruban drew his pistol and fired. Shwaan dodged the first bullet, but the next one struck his wing, followed by another in his thigh.

By themselves, the bullets were harmless to him. But in addition to the injuries he’d already suffered, the energy he’d lost…

The third bullet that struck him – in the upper arm – caused him to falter.

The fourth – just underneath the ribcage – made him lose altitude, forcing him to fly lower.

This was all the opportunity Ruban needed. He vaulted over the nearest parapet, executing a perfect somersault in the air.

Shwaan tried to evade him. But injured and exhausted, spilling his life energy through a hundred cuts, he wasn’t fast enough.

One of Ruban’s brawny arms wrapped around his neck. His legs encircled Shwaan’s, preventing him from kicking or thrashing. His other hand came up to hold the sifblade at Shwaan’s jugular, his substantial weight settling on Shwaan’s back.

“Down!” Ruban growled in his ear, pressing the sifblade to his skin none too gently. “I’ve had enough of your games for one night. If my feet don’t touch solid ground in the next five seconds, I will slit your throat.”

Moments later, Shwaan was on the ground – flat on his back with a sifblade to his throat and Ruban’s knee digging into his stomach. His ears buzzed with the agitated, excited murmurs of the surrounding crowd, which was pressing in for a closer look.

“I always knew it! Kinoh’s the best!” exclaimed one of the gun-toting teenagers. “No Aeriel’s gonna get the better of him.”

“Will he kill it?” Asked one of his friends.

“Isn’t that the prince of Vaan?” muttered a middle-aged woman behind them. “He was on TV with Kinoh just the other day.”

“Does this mean we can’t kill that terrorist scum?” grumbled the tall, pot-bellied man beside her. “I don’t know what the fuss is about. I’m all for these damn creatures killing each other.”

“Kinoh says it can’t be killed,” snapped a gruff voice near the back. “Think you know more about Aeriels and how to handle ‘em than Ruban Kinoh, d’you?”

“Well, if Kinoh can bridle the Aeriel prince, I daresay he knows how to handle some run-of-the-mill X-class.” The middle-aged woman opined, brushing dirt from her blouse. “Have you seen the markings on his wings? Just one short of that queen Kinoh killed couple of years ago.”

The crowd pressed in closer for a better look. The flashing of smartphone cameras lit up the gloomy street. The buzz of excited chatter intensified, the pitch rising with every passing second.

“I’ve heard there’s a new queen in Vaan,” said the gruff voice, now much closer than before. It turned out to belong to a skinny, bearded man with a patch over one eye. “Makes sense why she’d want an alliance, now. Considering what Kinoh did to her predecessor. No Aeriel in its right mind would want to antagonize the IAW, now that they’ve got the reinforced sifblades.”

A ripple of tittered laughter spread through the spectators, a few of the more vocal ones expounding upon the many ways in which Ruban could easily kill the new Aeriel queen, if he chose to do so. They’d just seen him vanquish the prince of Vaan in single combat, after all. How much harder could it be to subdue the queen?