Rash'alon's blade slipped beneath his guard, scoring a shallow cut along his bicep. Luke hissed in pain and jumped back, waving his sword to get some space. A black curse wound around his arm, seeping into the cut. The skin turned ashen, his veins black like worms. Luke's sword point wavered, his lips drawing in a thin line.
"You should have taken my offer," Rash'alon said, walking toward him with an unhurried gait. "You're strong, but your understanding of curses barely scratches the surface. I've only used elementary techniques, and yet you've fallen this far. We both could have had what we wanted, and yet in this petty act of passion, you've done nothing but deny yourself power. Once I kill you, I'll step over your corpse and claim the slave."
"I won't lose to you," Luke snarled.
"You already have."
Rash'alon stopped and raised his hand. Luke's hands flew to his chest, and he screamed, falling ot one knee as the corruption surged.
