Urza would either have to stagger onto the waiting blade or release his pike. He seized the haft of the weapon in his bloodied hand and hauled on it, extending his cutlass. As before, the planeswalker’s pike rammed up toward his face. He lifted his blade again overhead and lunged. The old gaffer had strength after all, but Gerrard would draw last blood. He wiped a warm smear across his off hand. Only Hanna looked on in uncertain silence. In the stands, hackled heads lifted toward the sky, and slimy throats poured out exclamations of joy. Red spots spattered the black stone, which drank it hungrily. The point of the pike slashed just beneath his jaw, opening a red gash within his beard. The younger man checked his attack, planted his foot, and dropped back. He drove the pike’s head toward Gerrard’s face. With two hands on the weapon, Urza had leverage. The cutlass ground its way down the haft but could not force it aside. Urza countered, thrusting the pike up before him. He whirled the sword overhead and brought it down in a powerful stroke. ![]() ![]() Gerrard roared through gritted teeth and charged.
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