Taking the Chain - Sex Stories

Taking the Chain

... of air. They swept by him, their sharpened blades barely missing his bare forearm.

He struck out, forcing Mordax's blade away, only to have to leap back from his second. Swinging his shield around, he grazed the other warrior's arm, knocking him away but not shattering bone as his swing would have if it had connected properly. The two of them stepped back, staring at one another as they reassessed.

Durus had fought and bested two-handed fighters before. They were eager and quick, and Mordax was no different in that regard. But he pulled away when others would continue. Durus had studied his fighting style and knew the young bull had exceptional stamina. Like a fisherman letting a reel run loose, only to force their prey in again, Mordax hoped to weary him. But he would not be defeated so easily.

Durus swung his sword low, and as Mordax jumped over it, he swung his shield high, battering the bull in his perfect face. The impact shuddered up his arm, but Durus followed through, even as the ache jarred his shoulder. Mordax landed on his back but kept moving, flipping his legs over his head and stumbling upright once more. With a roar, he whirled, both blades flashing towards Durus.

Metal clanged as shield and sword met, the force of their blows sending them both spinning away.

Durus knew that there was a crowd that watched them, that his very honour and championship were at stake. But all of it melted away as the fight continued. He knew Mordax was good. But he ...

... didn't realise how good. For every charge, Mordax met with equal enthusiasm. His swings were blocked, his attacks thwarted and his defence penetrated.

Sweat poured from his brow and down his back. His chest heaved, the air heavy with heat and the taste of salt sucked the moisture from his tongue. Muscles cramped and threatened to give out. Fingers ached, skin split and scrapped. And yet it was the best fight of Durus' life. For the first time in years, he felt challenged. He laughed out loud as Mordax deflected a blow that would have shattered the bones of any other opponent.

And Mordax too seemed to thrill in their fight. He roared and laughed and leapt nimbly as though it was a game. It should have enraged Durus, but it enlivened him more. Here was a fellow warrior, perfect in almost every way. But as Durus swept his sword high, swinging his shield low towards Mordax's left knee, he knew he was not faultless. There could be only one winner.

His shield connected and Mordax went down. He rolled away, the continuous assault of the sand drawing blood from both of their bared skin, but when he rolled to his feet, the battered knee gave way, spurring Durus forward. Mordax crumpled to his knees. Durus brought his sword down with all the force his tiring body could enforce. Mordax cried out, crossing his swords overhead to catch the descending blade.

The blade did not descend on his head, nor was it deflected away. The weight of it forced Mordax down, his arms crumpling ...