The two fighters stared each other down, both tensed like springs and ready to explode at a moment’s notice.

Pavel raised the sword above his opposite shoulder. His stance was amateurish, especially considering how open it left his torso. Yet malt knew better.

If he’d have been fighting any normal person, he was confident that victory would be his. He’d slip into his opponent’s inner space, negating the advantage of reach. From there he’d stop the chop mid-swing, before it could gain lethal momentum, then it was just a matter of digging his dirk into the base of the man’s neck.

But now he was facing an opponent that could, without a doubt, simply power through such a technique. Of course technique could almost always beat out raw power, but that principle mostly applied to humans.

Geld’s lifestyle had revolved heavily around the killing of other humans, and his combat style reflected this sentiment well. Thus, the techniques he’d taught Malt relied on simple, efficient movements that could incapacitate a man in the shortest amount of time possible.

Unexpected grapples and quick parries left the opponent disadvantaged and out-leveraged, leaving them vulnerable to a fatal stab or incapacitating cut.

This style had served Malt well throughout the months, but against someone who could more appropriately be called a monster rather than a human, it was largely useless.

No matter how much mechanical leverage he had, getting into a bind with this guy would obviously end in death. For much of the same reason, his arms wouldn’t be able to handle the shock of parrying such powerful blows, meaning that all he could do was dodge.

Pavel’s sneer grew wider, he was undoubtedly enjoying Malt’s indecisiveness.

The monster crouched for a second, eyes still locked. After a few seconds of anxiety riddled stillness, he launched forward, barreling toward Malt with the ferocity of a charging boar.

The distance was closed in an instant, and down came the first swing.

Malt could hear the air part as the comparatively small blade descended with force he hadn’t even thought possible for a sword of that size. Even though it missed his ear by a good few inches or so, his hair fluttered in response to the cleave.

What followed was a flurry of swings of a similar intensity, each attack coming nearly instantly after the previous thanks to Pavel’s ability to immediately stop the sword mid-flight with pure physical prowess.

Sure it left him completely open to attacks himself, but Malt was already at his limit avoiding the onslaught. He utilized superior footwork to weave in and out of range, ducking and dodging swings with immense difficulty.

Pavel advanced with every swing, trying to drive Malt against the cottage in an attempt to corner him, meaning that Malt was always on the retreat. Every few swings he’d attempt to slink away, but Pavel simply closed the distance again in a single, inhuman lunge.

His muscles immediately began to scream, and so did his mind. The strain placed on him threatened to beat him into exhaustion, both mentally and physically.

Not long after the barrage started, he felt a sting on his cheek. He didn’t have to look into a mirror in order to know what had happened, he could already feel the blood running down his chin.

The little injuries became more common, and began to sting more as time passed, proof that his body was slowing down. He knew that Pavel’s stamina far surpassed his own, but this unrelenting offensive was just ridiculous.

Just as he’d thought that, a searing pain appeared on his left upper arm. What he’d thought was a small, glancing cut had in fact split open the flesh in his arm considerably, likely even severing some of the muscle fiber within.

The area grew uncomfortably warm, throbbing more with each erratic heartbeat. It was then that he realized just how little leeway he had. He had to act now, no matter how slim the chance, because they’d only deteriorate as time went on.

Ignoring the wound as best he could, he tightened his grip on the dirk and prepared himself. He’d strike right after this next swing.

Sure enough, the blade came down once again, this time at an angle that would definitely split him from collar to armpit if it connected.

Jerking violently toward and to the right of Pavel, he narrowly avoided the blade. Using the momentum of such a maneuver, he rebounded and slashed at the guy’s neck.

He was prepared for the counterattack that would come, throwing caution into the wind, he fully committed to this one slash.

A small hope welled up inside of his mind when he realized that Pavel’s sword wouldn’t be able to come up in time. To anybody that was watching, Malt had beat the odds and would achieve victory within the second.

But of course it couldn’t be that easy.

Pavel opened his mouth. Robust teeth and four unusually sharp canines emerged from behind his chapped lips. He turned to the quickly enclosing blade, turning his neck at a speed that would give a normal person whiplash.

Malt quickly grasped his intentions.

Pushing off Pavel’s immense torso with his free hand, Malt attempted to disengage, pulling the dirk away as quickly as his body would allow. Despite this, he wasn’t nearly quick enough.

Pavel’s jaws clamped shut with the force of a beartrap, narrowly missing Malt’s pinkie and bearing down onto the dagger’s steel with terrifying force.

Before he could stop himself, the momentum of his body tore his hand from the weapon’s grip, it’s blade having been trapped in Pavel’s vice-like bite.

He had no choice to continue disengaging. The dread of the repercussions of losing his last weapon, and confusion of what had just occurred registered in his mind.

His time was up, that counterattack that he had been dreading so much was undoubtedly coming, and faster than he could react to.

Low and behold, his premonition was correct. He was met with the sight of a rapidly approaching blade once he looked up.

His life didn’t flash before his eyes, for it didn’t have the time to. Similarly, he couldn’t even raise his hands in a vain attempt to protect his face. He couldn’t end the fight before he was overwhelmed.

His gamble had failed.

But as the regret flooded his mind, a peculiar feeling assaulted his senses.

Time slowed, and the blur of combat faded, as if it was swept away by a violent gust of wind. Even considering the severity of his situation, he was both impressed and a little irritated that his mind could accomplish such a feat despite not being able to pull through in the earlier moments.

But as he’d soon realize, this wasn’t the case. His instincts were simply reacting to something that they considered to be more dangerous than Pavel.

In this moment of perfect clarity, he felt the air rumble with power of unknown origin. Each and every one of his hairs stood on end, his instincts were screaming with a severity similar to if he were being held at gunpoint.

With a quick glance at Pavel, it was clear that he was feeling the same thing. The smugness was wiped from his face in an instant.

A glimmering shine registered at the corner of Malt’s eye.

By the time he turned his attention toward the peculiar twinkle, his eyes began burning from overexposure.

A blinding blue light assaulted his irises. Or rather, a group of shining blue objects did.

As his eyes adjusted a little, he could just make out a dozen or so projectiles streaking toward them from the edge of the forest.

They very vaguely resembled arrows, only shining with the intensity of burning magnesium. The world seemed to dim in comparison, as if day had turned to night in an instant.

As they drew closer, he could see that they were almost ethereal, like glowing tendrils of smoke, yet simultaneously cackling with volatile energy. They spun at cyclone speeds, seeming to warp the very air around them as they flew.

Jewels, that’s what they reminded him of.

Mesmerizing, sparkling jewels glimmering with such saturated beauty that they made everything else seem dull and grey in comparison. Yet, they were anything but.

He could see that they rippled with malevolent energy, which was the only thing that shook him from his mesmerized trance.

It was chaos from there.

The sapphire missiles made landfall in an instant. Mounds of earth were thrown into the air as the arrows violently dug into the ground.

Seeing as how they gouged chunks out of the dirt and surrounding landscape, it wasn’t hard to imagine what would happen if one so much as grazed him.

Malt scurried away, leaping and rolling from the rain of death as best he could. Despite his best efforts, the effects of the phenomenon could still be felt, very well in fact.

Though these projectiles seemed to have the intent of causing only localized destruction, or at least that was the best he could interpret in between dodges, the force of them landing nearby still rocked his body.

The explosions reminded him of fireworks, the force shaking him to his very core. He couldn’t even tell if the burning he felt on his skin was from heat or intense cold.

After what seemed like an eternity, the impacts finally ended.

Still shaken, Malt struggled to his feet, still wobbling and outstretching his arms to balance.

His vision seemed to return at the same time, steadying enough so that he could finally return to seeing a single image again.

He could just make out Pavel, who despite having his clothes a little singed, was completely fine.

The expression on his face was strange. It reminded him of an ordeal that had occurred back in elementary school.

There was one kid who would always be bullied by the same person, day in and day out. One day, he decided he had enough of it and brought his older brother to school. Regardless, the bully, understandably shaken having been confronted by an older, stronger individual, still kept a sneer on, albeit a shakier one.

Pavel’s face conveyed the same feeling. Confusion, surprise, and fear mixed into a cocktail of emotions that ultimately showed his withering confidence.

Malt turned to the source of the phenomenon, and it was quickly apparent as to why Pavel was acting in such a way.

Clutching a carved wooden cane in one hand like a sword, and dressed as regally as he always was, Nasir stood at the edge of the forest.

His sharp eyes expressed intense disdain and impatience, but his expression in general was as cold as ice. It was an expression that reminded Malt immensely of Geld, which revealed volumes about Nasir’s past lifestyle.

He lowered the cane, eyes trained on one person in particular.

Pavel withered slightly under the greying man’s harrowing gaze.

The disdain in Nasir’s eyes growing more acute, he spoke in a voice that had a certain edge to it.

“What, since you were acting so pompous earlier, I would’ve thought that you’d enjoy taking on someone more your own size.”

He stopepd after advancing a distance he deemed sufficient. Raising his staff once more, the air began cackling with sparks of azure energy.

“I guess I expected too much from you.”