Kyla's tragic eyes went wide—shocked, half-disbelieving.
Haral breathed deep. The tension was a tight knot in his stomach now. His hand grew sweaty against the light-lance.
Slavering, the Uranian shambled towards Kyla. The mad din of the crowd grew deafening.
A churning excitement boiled within the blue warrior. This was the moment for which he'd come; this was the final peak of crisis.
The dau lunged.
In one smooth flow of motion, Haral whipped up the light-lance. Its beam speared out, stabbing at the dau.
The lumbering creature stumbled and swerved, twisting in a sudden, agonized frenzy. Smoke curled from the matted hair of its massive torso. It tottered—fell back a step—another—another. Then, arms and legs jerking spasmodically, head out of control, it crumpled into the gory dirt of the arena and lay twitching.
A thunderous, stupefied silence fell upon the crowd. Creatures from the far-flung planets of the whole solar system stared in blank disbelief.
Then, suddenly, the shocked spell broke; and Sark was on his feet and shrieking, "Seize him! Kill him! Blast him down!"
The mob surged forward.