>>6240850

The first strike comes from the left — you bend your body backward, avoiding it, and slicing open his arm with your weapon. The white edge fears no impact, and it bites into the scales and the flesh with as much easier as wet paper, leaving behind a trail of dark blood.
The beast hisses, then it strikes again — once, twice — in its fury it manages to land a few hits on your arm and shoulder, but your armour is the same material as your sword.
Carnaval’s gift proves much more useful in this kind of contest than with otherworldly beats, mages, or the pair of eyes that keep watching your group from above.

The lizardman goes for a thrust, trying to strike your heart.
Is this what he has learned, raiding these poor people at the edge of the world? This close to the sea it seems the authority of the Throne is faint, its arm short and weak.
Once again, it’s up to Ansàrra to uphold order.
You turn your lips into a shape of cold disdain as you turn on yourself, balancing yourself by showing off your Lynx stance, and then, as he overreaches, stumbles on the grass, you shift into the Lion, and strike right into its thigh.
It falls to the ground.
Another strike, up the side, reaching into its stomach, then a pull, twisting on your shoulders—

You step back, tracing an arc in the air with its blood. The beast hisses and pants, its limbs still shaking as it tries to pull back its sliced belly. The smell of iron and entrails hit you.
Wonder if there’s some piece of human being laying in that stomach.
A little snack.

[cont.]