The glow at Feng's palm pulsed with deathly promise. Gene's blade shook in his grip—he would fight, even if hopeless.
Then—another eagle's cry, sharper, closer.
Feng froze, head snapping skyward. His face darkened.
A second eagle, smaller but dazzlingly white, plummeted toward them—talons outstretched, straight for his mount.
The blue eagle shrieked, beating wings furiously. The two predators collided mid-air, a storm of claws and feathers.
"Damn it!" Feng cursed. He had not expected this rival now, of all times.
That instant's distraction was all Gene needed. Survival screamed louder than fear.
He lunged—not at Feng, but at the bandits, stunned by the aerial battle.
"Stop him!" Feng roared, split between his prey and his mount.
The bandits rushed, blades flashing.
Gene became a mad beast. He slashed wildly, heedless of pain, heedless of cuts. His frenzy broke through one wavering foe, and in that heartbeat he burst free.
"Out of my way!" he roared, plunging into the night.
Behind him, shouts, curses, and eagle-cries clashed in chaos. He did not look back. He ran.