Malik was on them before they even blinked.
The first man barely had time to widen his eyes before a curved sword ripped through his throat, spraying red across the ground.
The second went for a dagger, but before he could strike, Malik grabbed his wrist, twisted, snapped bone, and drove his own blade through his chest.
The third actually managed to draw his sword.
The fourth? Came out of nowhere, swinging for Malik's ribs.
Malik flipped his grip without thinking and caught his blade in his left.
The blade dropped, stabbing into the ground just a breath to his right, stopping the slash cold.
A perfect block.
Before the bastard could pull back, Malik lunged.
His right arm snapped forward, wrapping around the man's sword like a snake, twisting and trapping—locking it in place using both his elbow and armpit.
A flash of panic crossed the man's face.
"No—!"
Too late.
Malik yanked the sword and ripped it right out of his grip.
SHING!
