The Dark Sire Issue 4 (Summer 2020) | Page 59

The attack came a heartbeat too late as the stranger sidestepped the cone of flame and circled around to Phoenix’s rear. Phoenix quashed the flames as he felt cold pressure against the front of his neck. Never had he seen a criminal draw a knife so fast. In the apartment’s dim light, he could just glimpse that the weapon had a golden handle decorated with some sort of engraving. “Stay still, Phoenix,” the stranger whispered in the hero’s ear. “I have no idea whether this will hurt or not.” He placed the tips of his fingers against the left side of Phoenix’s back, and pressed. Phoenix felt like he’d been punched in the chest with a cement boxing glove and his heart palpitated. The stranger let go and Phoenix, winded, collapsed to the floor. He strained to roll over, to see his enemy. The man examined a little red flame that he held in his hand. That golden shine in the stranger’s eyes brightened, overcoming the reflection of the flame. “The living flame will never consent to be wielded by you.” Phoenix could barely choke the statement out. His breathing was ragged and the pain in his chest blossomed to include his left arm and the underside of his jaw. “How little you know of the boons.” The stranger didn’t take his eyes from the little flame as he held it to his chest. It sank into his body as if it sought shelter. 57