Chapter 35: Tooth And Nail

From that moment onward, it was as if the tempo of the fight had changed.

No matter how fast I moved, or how hard I hit, or how many times he would be blown back, he would attack me with the same ferocity.

The confident and composed knight I recognized as my opponent was nowhere to be seen, replaced with what amounts to a rabid beast.

Yet, it wasn't rage or instinct guiding his moves. Everything he did had a purpose, every wild swing calculated, down to him specifically choosing to not block at times in order to draw me in to counterattack me.

The arms in which he summoned made the fight a constant dance, forcing me to dodge and watch my blindspots much more than usual. Yet, it seems he's more of a hand-to-hand fighter.

However, the most frightening part was his face. There was no pain nor fatigue in his eyes, just a wild grin and a look of pure ecstasy.

As the four arms contained to swing wildly at me, I found an opening, a weakness almost.

Whilst controlling the arms, he is forced to stop using one arm. The arms respond to high signals he makes with one hand, forcing him to cease his assault for a brief moment.

That's exactly an opening I can exploit.

As soon as I see him begin to use an arm, I quickly drop into Speed Cloak and blitz directly into his personal space, swinging my ax into his left shoulder this time.

For once, he seems caught off guard, as I swing my ax hard and cut his left arm clean off.

"Yes yes yes! I haven't had this much fun in a fight since I killed that bastard Pleonix!" He yelled, his left arm and armor rapidly regenerating after taking the full force of my battle-ax.

This thing never seemed to run out of stamina. No matter how severe a wound, or devasting a blow, he would recover nearly instantly. It was like I was fighting a brick wall.

But there has to be a limit, there has to be some tangible end to his regeneration.

"Who?" I yell, throwing a feint with my left fist, followed by a second feint with my ax to instead fully commit to a left straight.

"The bastard I devoured before you!" He yelled, face tanking my fist and opting to try and stab into my shoulder.

I saw it coming, but the fatigue of this nearly ten-minute-long battle was wearing on me. As I tried to move my ax to parry, he slipped my guard and drove his sword deep into my right shoulder.

I felt the warmth and feeling drain from my right arm, as he brought his sword down and then back up in a split second, removing my right arm from my torso.

Without my dominant arm and trusty ax, I fell to my knees.

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"What, you do already? We were just getting started!" The bastard yelled, but I could hear the panting and exhaustion in his voice. Even the most seasoned warriors can't handle the mental burden of keeping a consistent cloak and having a high-intensity battle for that long. If I had only hung on for a little while longer.

Yet, I still had one trick up my sleeve. It would just take a minute to prepare.

Canceling all of my cloak, I began to funnel mana into my left hand.

"Without my arm and my ax, I am defeated. You've put up a valiant effort, I've yet to meet a warrior as skilled as you." I say, leading him into continuing to babble.

"You as well my friend. Gust, right? It's been months since I've been able to give a fight my all. Yet, unfortunately for you, the battlefield is my specialty." He says, hook line and sinker. "I have yet to find an opponent who can stand up to my abilities, whether within a Fae Ritual or not." He says, looking off into the distance. It's as if he's reminiscing about something.

"That is a question I have if you'll humor me," I ask, looking towards his smug grin. Just a little bit longer.

"Shoot. It's the least I could do for a strong person such as yourself." He says, a smile of something I could confuse with camaraderie if he had not just cut my arm off in ritual combat.

"What technique are you using that allows you to continue fighting? I've never seen regeneration on that level, yet I can tell you're not casting or using any healing magic." I say, as the insane amount of mana gathered into my left fist starts to hurt. It felt as if my hand was going to explode.

"That is a skill that only I'm able to use, something I was given as a gift you see. It's a technique they liked to call my Wrathful Soul. Basically, the longer a fight goes on, the stronger I get and the more my body can handle damage-wise. The trade-off is that with my ability to fight, my desire to fight also increases. That, and the fact that after a while it may start affecting you. Are you telling me you didn't notice? We fought for nearly half an hour yet your mana never ran dry." He said, a bit of disappointment in his voice.

Wait, what? That was half an hour?

"That was half an hour? I thought it was ten minutes!" I nearly yell, as the pain in my hand ever increases.

"That's the heat of battle man, we were too enveloped in the sport of it. Anyway, do you admit defeat man?" He says, putting his hand on my shoulder apologetically.

Thank God he kept talking and gave me the time I needed.

"No, I don't think I will," I say, looking up at the warrior and shooting to my feet.

As I stood up, I swung my left fist, infused with all of the mana that I had used for my cloaking, into an uppercut.

It connected perfectly, his face of shock only lasting for a moment. As in the next moment, his head exploded upon contact with my fist. That being said, my fist also was reduced to nothing but a mound of flesh loosely attached to my now broken forearm.

Yet, the birdcage didn't dissipate, and our wounds were not healed by the Fae magic.

Looking down at what should have been his fresh corpse, an extremely quiet, yet horrific gurgling noise could be heard.

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