Rivals Of Aether Ness Direct

"The rift you fell from," he growled, his voice still hot but no longer mocking. "It wanders. Near the Rock Wall. I will take you there."

Ness lowered his hand. He was trembling, his nose bleeding from the strain of focusing PSI in this alien place. He held the broken remains of his bat like a spear.

The clearing was silent but for the hiss of Zetterburn's cooling fur and the drip of melting frost. The lion glared at him, a thousand-year hatred burning behind his eyes. But he was also, for the first time, truly seeing the boy in the striped shirt. Not a curiosity. Not prey.

The psychic cryo-blast erupted from his forehead, a needle-thin lance of absolute zero. It wasn't the wide, powerful blizzard he used on Starmen. It was a surgical strike, honed by desperation. rivals of aether ness

The lion’s roar choked into a wet, hissing gurgle. Frost spiderwebbed across his fangs, his tongue, the roof of his scorching maw. Steam exploded from his nostrils. He staggered back, clawing at his face, his mane flickering and sputtering. For the first time, the Prince of Fire looked afraid.

A rival.

"You're lost, little boy," Zetterburn growled, his voice the sound of a collapsing forge. He flexed a claw, and a corona of fire licked up his forearm. "This isn't Onett. There are no weak, sentient animals here for you to bully with your mind." "The rift you fell from," he growled, his

"You—!" he rasped, ice crystals falling from his singed whiskers.

He lunged.

Ness didn't run. He stepped in . Close. Too close. He could smell the sulfur on the lion's breath, feel the individual points of heat radiating from his mane. He pressed two fingers to his own temple. I will take you there

Zetterburn stumbled forward, off-balance for a heartbeat. It was all Ness needed. He didn’t think. He acted . A lifetime of batting practice and fighting possessed moles took over. He swung the Louisville Slugger not at Zetterburn’s head, but at his front paws.

It wasn't a victory. It was a truce. And as the sun set over the strange, churning horizon, the Boy from Onett and the Prince of Fire walked side-by-side into the unknown, two rivals bound by the simple, terrifying truth that neither could destroy the other.

Zetterburn lowered his head, a gesture that was not submission, but respect. He spat a single, frozen tooth onto the black mud.

Zetterburn laughed, a sound like a landslide of hot coals. "Home? This is your home now. Ash and bone."