DRISHYA FELT NOTHING AS he stepped forward to meet Tyrak’s first attack. Not fear, not doubt, not confidence, not anger . . . nothing. There was only a blankness in his mind that he felt certain nothing could possibly fill. An emptiness, a void, into which he could pour anything, create an entire world if he desired. This moment was a blank slate on which any future could be written.
He sensed Tyrak’s great self-confidence. The Childslayer clearly felt certain of victory. It was writ large on his fair features, in the way he took his time stepping around the wrestling square, in no hurry to attack, yet showing no concern at the outcome. He grinned at Drishya, and the grin was more a leer, promising pain and agony and a slow, torturous, humiliating death.
Then Tyrak charged.
It was exactly like the elephant’s charge.
Drishya simply stood his ground.
Tyrak slammed into the slender boy with enough force to shatter a stone wall. Even the demon elephant was nothing compared to Tyrak in his present state. The elephant was mortal, merely stronger and bigger and better armored than most of its kind. Tyrak, on the other hand, had been built into a juggernaut through decades of drug consumption and training. He was a finely honed killing machine.
Yet Drishya was a stone wall mighty enough to withstand even his greatest force.
The shoulder that had pulverized boulders the size of a house struck Drishya’s chest and chin and was shattered.
The back that had provided power enough to lift entire quarries of stone and heave them scores of yards away now cracked and broke under the impact.
The arms broke, the joints gave way, the heavy bones of the legs and hip shattered, the muscle that was harder than iron was pulped and turned to bloody mash.
Tyrak bounced off Drishya and collapsed in a heap on the dusty ground of the wrestling square.
A roar of exultation rose from the Mraashk ranks.