Michael turned to Spartan and spoke with a calm authority. "Drop the spear. We're throwing hands and spells."
Spartan, clad in armor, responded with a bow of the head. "Yes, Master."
The spear clattered to the ground with a resonant clang.
Michael took a quick glance at his summon.
Spartan's appearance was mysterious—completely concealed under his hood and black armor.
Even if his face were revealed, none would suspect anything.
In this Kingdom, Michael was known as a Summoner to do some, those who mattered—and all his summons thus far had been undead. Spartan was just another shadow in that line.
A single breath passed.
Then they moved.
Master and summon.
Two high humans. One alive. One dead.
They charged Uga in perfect unison.
Their footwork mirrored each other, movements fluid and calculated.
Every punch Michael threw, Spartan followed with a mirrored strike. Their kicks landed within fractions of a second of one another.
