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"Oh, it would be my honor," the Harvest Lord says with a bow.
I take a large step back, and Viola drops her arms, widening her stance and pulling shadows from the surrounding area to her, which undulate like a mass of snakes around her legs. "Then let's begin, shall we?"
The two of them go back and forth, dodging and lashing out with their magic as they circle one another, neither getting in a good hit. "You're taking it easy on me, Avidor," Viola taunts, sweeping Avidor's feet out from under him with a tendril shadow. "I know you've got more tricks up your sleeves than this."
"I am not the warrior God," he remarks with a grin. "If that was what you wanted, you should've challenged Solarius."
"He's next on my list."
I chuckle from my position off to the side, stretching out in the warm grass. I'm so engrossed with the displays of magic I don't notice Morrow lowering himself down next to me. He bumps his shoulder into mine, startling me.
"Fuck, Morrow, you just took a few years off my life."
"Eh, you won't even notice you'll live so long," he says with a chuckle. "They're sparring?"
"It's surprisingly not very interesting," I admit under my breath. "They're both holding back."
He hums quietly, resting back on his right hand. I sneak a glance at his left arm. He seems to be adjusting well to his loss of limb. It's strange to see him missing a forearm and hand, but he's starting to utilize the upper arm and elbow joint in his daily life. He catches me staringand shakes his head. "You can just ask, Mace."
"How are you doing?" I say, ducking my head as an errant shard of Ice magic comes flying my way.
"Sorry!" Viola shouts over her shoulder.
Morrow shrugs, not even reacting to the magic swirling around us. "I mean, I don't have a choice but to figure it out, do I?" He sighs, holding up the stump and staring at it. "As much as Tulip tries to tell me it won't limit me, you and I both know it will. I'm still holding out hope that maybe the Bloomtide can do something about it. Plume has said she'll ask."
"It's worth a shot," I say. "But, I want you to know I've been really impressed with how you've handled this. I don't think I could've adapted as well as you."
"You could have, and you would have," he nods at Viola, who is currently dodging a small bolt of Lightning magic, "for her."
We sit in silence, watching the Gods battle. Both smile and laugh, and neither tries hard to best the other. It quickly becomes obvious that they're both just showing off their command over magic. Morrow's eyes bounce back and forth between the two before his face lights up with a mischievous grin. "Shadowweaver!" he shouts.
She stops, holding up her hand to Avidor, and turns. "When'd you get here, Morrow?"
"Been here a while. Come here right quick."
Viola walks towards us, and Morrow gets to his feet, leaning to whisper in her ear. I watch as her eyes light up, mouth parting slightly.Her tongue traces the underside of her top teeth in thought. "You think that will work?"
"In theory. Worth a shot."
With a vicious grin, Viola turns back to Avidor, cracking her neck. Shadow lifts his head up again and hisses at the God of Autumn, who raises his eyebrow at the familiar. "Your snake doesn't like me," he says.
"He doesn't really like anyone," she says with a shrug. "I made him from a shadow."
"I would love to hear that full story one day."
"It's not very long," I say, rolling a blade of grass between my fingers, mind drifting back to the day I coached Viola into making her snake corporeal. "What was a shadow became a snake with just a little focus. Viola was quite distraught that she had a snake on her arm." She scowls at me, and her mouth drops to interrupt me. "Despite the fact she put it there herself," I say to cut her off.
With a huff that is so un-Godlike and very reminiscent of the Viola Mistflow who stepped off the elevator, she turns back to Avidor. "Enough playing around," she says, ending the conversation. "Let's spar for real."
Avidor raises his eyebrows and then drags his gaze down Viola's body. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, and now I wish she wore more clothing today. "I thought we were sparring?"
Viola's grin is more like her teeth being bared as she laughs. "I barely broke a sweat." She gathers a chunk ofshadows in her hands, and they solidify with barely a blink from Viola. Avidor watches and quickly forms a flail in front of him again. Viola's hold on the base of the shadows allows her to whip them towards the Harvest Lord, wrapping around one of his arms. He smothers the shadows in a shower of dirt, and then his flail strikes out at Viola.
I watch in amazement as the flail pauses midair, inches from smacking Viola in the face, and then it spins, lashing out at Avidor. The ends of it burst into flames and strike Avidor in the gut. He hits the dirt, hands around his stomach, which is bare and vulnerable because the God never seems to wear a fucking shirt.
"How did you do that?" he groans, pulling his hands away to survey the damage. Deep cuts line his stomach, but they don't bleed much because the heat of the flail must have cauterized the wounds as they were formed.
Viola rushes to him, pushing him flat on his back and running her hands slowly over his flesh, knitting it beneath her fingers. "I took control of your magic and mixed it with some of mine," she says, her tone so nonchalant she may as well be describing the weather.
