As he looked at Hakon crackling with raw and electric power, Hrafn was beginning to feel grateful to Edvard for the armor he had received. The inner part of the set was molded from various materials, with only the outside made of iron, and that might be the difference between dying roasted on the outside or cooked on the inside.
The mace was the greatest problem, but so long as it was spinning, Hrafn trusted in its ability to divert part of the electricity, there was also Liv's wood serving as an extra layer of protection, but before anything else he needed to kill the other white voroir. He had already killed one, and that had been the first man he had killed in his life. It was a strange feeling, worse still because he had felt the branches piercing through the warrior's skull, his life being poisoned and slowly going out, as if the other man's death had passed through him.
But this was not the time for that, he would stop to reflect on death if he was still alive by the end of the day. The other white voroir was already coming in his direction, and Hrafn needed to keep pretending to be tired, wounded and too close to the end.
He kept up the act as best he could, with heavy breathing, one leg a little weak, and the most exhausted look he could imitate without seeming too theatrical, the more the enemies believed he was dry of megin, the better. None of them knew about Liv, and they had probably concluded that the previous attack had spent almost all of the user's power, which was true to a certain extent, since the little mandrake did not have much left either.
The warrior put his shoulder forward, running and slamming into the dome of branches, breaking everything with the momentum of his body as if it were glass, and when he was only a few steps away,, Hrafn decided to stop pretending weakness, he set his body upright, fixed his eyes and his base for a kick and gave himself over to the blessing.
A left strike was launched horizontally with a small impulse forward, surprising the enemy. But despite the deception, the other voroir was burning his own megin like paper in fire, the body shining from head to foot with a weak white. He concentrated most of that energy on the side of the body, received the impact and was thrown backward in Hakon's direction. The young noble who was coming just behind dodged to the side, letting the other pass, before taking advantage of the opening and continuing to run toward his target, with his axis low and his arms open and full of power, as if he wanted to embrace him with lightning to death.
In response, Hrafn attacked with the mace from top to bottom in a hurried swing. Hakon crossed his arms over his head, and the blades of the weapon lodged into the iron of the armor with a heavy sound. Hrafn then launched a low kick to remove the young noble's base, but before the blow was completed, Hakon's eyes shone again, much more intensely this time. First came the light, strong enough to blind Hrafn for an instant, and right after came the energy, running through the ground, through the air and through the weapon he held. The impact of the explosion made his whole body tremble, such a brutal shock that he almost lost consciousness, with the electricity biting and burning his flesh before hurling him flying backward, breaking the branches that still remained there.
As he rolled across the ground, he activated the dive into perception again, focusing on feeling the seeds that were scattered through the arena. He himself would not have been capable of activating any of them from so far away, but he did not need to, because Liv's initial attack had served more purposes than mere death. Several of her branches had also gone to the ground, where they split into fine and tiny roots spread all across the place, extending like a great web beneath the sand, and the stone of the arena, even beyond it, feeding on all life in the underground. It was a hungry and voracious work, the kind that would not sustain itself for long, but Hrafn did not need much time.
The white voroir was already back on his feet in the meantime, running toward him and passing by Hakon, he would soon step on one of the seeds that were connected to that great network. Hrafn could not fail, because what Liv was doing would kill the soil in a few minutes, perhaps in seconds, so he endured the pain and dove even deeper, narrowing his senses more and more. The mandrake herself did not have much power left either, being only capable of maintaining the network she had created with difficulty. That was where Hrafn would come in, connecting himself both to Liv and to the web she had spread beneath the arena, he forced and twisted his megin, pouring it into the nature below and ordering that the energy be passed onward, from seed to seed.
The dagger lily was a peculiar plant. It formed small lilies at the tips of thick branches, shaped like daggers and equally sharp as a blade. Those were the seeds Hrafn had chosen for that battle, and, in the seconds that followed, all the people in the crowd would see the largest dagger lilies they had ever seen in their lives.
In the stone stands of the arena, the audience was in anticipatory silence after the explosion of lightning. At the center of it, the young noble was panting with his hands on his knees, the lightning that wrapped his body slowly fading. Hrafn was still flying and bouncing through the sand toward one of the side walls, and the white warrior was charging after him with everything he had, each step breaking a little of the ground, sword in hand and satisfaction on his face, thinking the fight was already won, that it only remained to reach the fallen man and finish the job with one clean strike.
But in one swift and violent instant, dozens upon dozens of spikes were born beneath the white voroir's foot. Most broke against the armor and threw off his balance, some lodged in the joints and pierced the flesh, tearing a muffled groan from him as he fell, and during the fall more and more were born, rising too quickly for the body to follow. As if they possessed a will of their own and knew what to seek, they found gaps between the visor and the respirator of the helmet, entered through his eyes, neck and mouth, piercing him from inside and out with cruel precision. When it was over, the man looked like a macabre work raised by the arena itself, leaking blood through the gaps of the armor and pouring it continuously onto the ground.
Hrafn could still feel his whole body throbbing, his head ringing, the burned flesh stinging where the electricity had passed, and Liv was almost as exhausted as he was. And while the white's blood ran, the audience was finally beginning to understand what it had seen, roaring with excitement at the unexpected reversal.
Someone seemed to have shouted his name somewhere above, and the rest followed in a loud and disorderly chorus, with feet stomping on the ground and hands slapping against thighs.
''Hrafn!!''
''Hrafn!!''
''Hrafn!!''