Dain moved the way wildcats and snakes do, with coiled, liquid power and absolute precision even in his fastest strikes. He utilized his whole body in open combat, using his wing-arms for attacks, balance, and even wyvern-like support, catching his weight so he could lash out with his legs. Even his tails came into the fray: not only could he whip them like a cheetah to counterbalance on sharp turns, but the damn things were apparently wickedly powerful, because he used them as bludgeons and to trip foes. I even saw him knock a blade out of someone's hand by snapping a tail against her wrist.

I never saw him take on fewer than four fae at once. He was simply too fast, too dangerous, and too vicious an opponent for anyone else to match up one-on-one. Dain had no mercy in open combat; if you went down, he expected you to stay down. Try to get up and re-enter the fray, and the best you could hope for was getting stomped between the shoulders. He won two of every three bouts I saw him in, and the others were hard-fought.

Not to mention that the man was fantastic at glamor. Fights including glamor weren't often scheduled, but they were incredible to watch. It took time and focus to make convincing glamors, or to break through them. Most of the fighters specialized either in physical combat or glamor combat, and while Dain definitely leaned physical, he had a set of glamors he could use in combat as easily as he moved his body. There was truly something incredible about watching Dain control a battlefield by flinging metal spines out of the ground to make it impassable or throwing flame and ice with a sweep of his hand.

I couldn't wipe the smile off of my face as Dain whirled, breaking through a glamor of flame like some sort of primal god, the deadly spikes jutting out of the ground shattering under his scaled feet. He swung his arms down in wicked arcs, leaving no space to evade, wielding a sword and glamored scythe-claws that extended a foot past the tips of his wing fingers. The blow caught his opponent on the shoulder, throwing him to the ground so hard he bounced, and a brutal kick took care of his last opponent. She hit the wall of the arena and dropped her polearm, raising her hands in surrender as Dain approached with deadly intent.

All at once, his demeanor changed. The killer dropped away, replaced by a man who was simply enjoying some exercise with friendly companions, and he offered her his hand as the glamor on the field melted away. With a groan I could hear from my perch in the stands, my guard Ciradyl took it, and let herself get hauled back to her feet.

"Well fought," Dain said with warmth.

"Couldn't give a poor showing with your soulmate watching, your highness," I heard her reply.