I wince as I feel his pain through our connection, the phantom sensation of claws tearing through scales and muscle. But I'm forced to turn my attention away as the massive elementals clash to my left. I have to trust that Typhon can handle himself.

The siphon taking Raith's form rushes me, sword flashing so fast I barely track it. I throw myself to one side with none of the elegance Raith drilled into me. There's no time for elegance.

I fall hard on my side, rapier clattering from my hand. I lunge for it, barely dodging another strike that smashes into the stone. The impact sends vibrations through the floor that rattle my teeth.

Come on, Nessa. You're better than this. You can fucking do this.

I grab the rapier, spin away from another strike and finally get back on my feet. I reach into the earth and lift a stone just as the siphon comes at me again, catching one of its feet. Instead of losing balance, it easily rights itself, turning the stumble into a spinning strike so strong it cracks my rapier in two when I raise it to block.

One broken half of my practice blade spins away, cutting a gash in my arm before clattering to the ground several feet away.

Shit, shit, shit.

Blood runs hot down my arm, the pain sharp and immediate.

Typhon roars, blasting a torrent of water at the void lion, which raises a purple-green shield to deflect most of the magic.

I pluck the dagger Raith gave me from my boot, but I've never trained with a weapon so small and can't possibly use it to block his sword.

Magic. Use your fucking magic.

I twist air and water together, forming a spike of ice the size of my forearm. I keep it behind my back until the siphon swings again at me in a horizontal arc. I lean back and the sword's tip misses me so closely I feel the blade-thin rush of air against my face.

Then I throw the icicle at him. There's a moment of satisfying surprise as the siphon's eyes widen and then the ice spike punches into its forehead, snapping its head back at a ninety degree angle.

I wait for its body to slump and fall lifeless, but it just... stands there, head tilted back at that unnatural angle. And then it straightens with the sound of bones cracking, and it is smiling.

Without taking its eyes from me, it grips the icicle and pulls it free from its head. Something thick and black drips from the wound, but it's not blood. Not any kind of blood I've ever seen.

And then the siphon starts to transform, shedding its disguise piece by piece.