The human had a moment of tenseness that had taken a deep clutching root inside of him as he was downing the diluted poison, but as he heard the Tuskir's words regarding the liquid he got splashed with as just being holy water, an ease washed through his muscles. Still, that feeling of relaxation went up in smokes akin to charcoal in a roaring furnace of frustrated vitriol at the realization that if he was a daeman, he might have been blind now and beaten to death.

His journey could have ended with him, a rotten carcass, tucked in the thick brush of the woods, eaten by vurms and other insects or even animals. This thought alone infuriated him, that despite everything he went through, the amount of effort he put into surviving, no, into living and improving himself, it could all have ended... just a short walk away from the tribe that had nestled and nurtured his unnatural existence in this world.

He felt his irregular heartbeat start to even out and then pick up, faster and faster, beating into his sternum akin to a drum being beaten up as it was continously reaching a rumbling apex of a melody, one that never came and just continued building. As blood began dripping out of his burst capilaries, his eyes burned alert, he'd drag his hand down his face wiping the water and instead smearing the blood over his lower face as he strained his cheeks to show the widest most forced toothy smile he could.

"I can't see... how you furred fucks didn't think that'd just piss me off." He said, in a calm yet eerie tone, as he belched the words out from the back of his throat which resounded with an awful rasp.

His response and reaction to the assault he received had staggered his Tuskir assailants, just enough for him to pop open the two leather pouches on his hips and taken out his knuckle dusters, the steel in the left and the iron in the right.

Despite being shocked by this display as well, the metal armored Rock Back looked at Michael's weapons and noticing that they didn't look like anything considerable, he decided this fight could still be doable. "Ehhh... you must be a mad one if you think you can win against three of us armed only with two measly chunks of metal." He'd comment giving his associates a bit of their boldness back, which prompted them to take at the ready stances, yet not enough to make 'em be the first to advance on towards Michael.

The human listened as he kept up with his bloody mad clown like grin. "You are right. I'd have to be mad to think I can beat you with two chunks of metal." He'd say as he then gingerly uncurled his fingers from around his iron knuckle duster and he'd gently let it thud onto the ground. "I'll only need the one." He'd reply back with a giggling chuckle and snort as he light shook the steel duster inbetween his left hand's digits.

The three didn't reply nor show any reaction to Michael's remark, at least not any they'd conciously make, but their stalling had spoken more than any words or expressions could. The human would direct his shot gaze at the axe wielding boar man he had teased before as an idea came to his mind. 'First to lose his composure entirely is the first to lose the fight. It's time for the 7 years of having to come up with tilting filthy insults in Championship of Champions chat to pay off. Promised myself I'd never insult someone in game like that again once I realized how bad everything that I said sounded, but... hell, this ain't nowhere near a game.'

"What's wrong shit muncher? Why are you hesitating, eh? Waiting for your mother to come and rescue you, like the little piglet you are? Or... oh? Is she dead? Is her ass rotting in some tomb or grave? Tsk... bummer, really... I'd have loved to slit your throat in front of her or maybe the other way around... that'd be even funnier. Still, I bet she'd still be able to roll over of grief in her grave, that she had to carry and birth you, a sorry joke of a son." Michael said while chuckling in an over the top manner between sentences, looking at the axe wielder with an amused mocking expression, his laugh turning his smile even more akin to a monstrous caricature of an expression.

The Tuskir axeman would squeal loudly as his drool bubbled at the corners of his maws akin to a pot over-boiling. "DON' YA DARE INSULT ME KIN, HEEEEELLSPAWN! " He'd yell out while charging, axe raised in his right hand, his scream of battle echoing in the early morning air.

"NO, YOU FOOL! STRIKE AT ONCE, NOT OUT OF FORM-" a voice bellowed from behind, but the fury of the Tuskir and the human's poison fueled adrenaline, blurred out who spoke and what else was said.

Michael would keep his eyes on the charging boarman, looking at his eyes, posture and the manner in which he held his weapon. With his nostrils flared he'd slow his breathing as he inhaled deeply. Fists raised up in a guarding stance, legs spread one forward and one back with his toes pointed forward, he'd wait, not unlike an archer biding his time for the perfect shot. He'd mumble under his breath as if in prayer, but the words would stop as soon as the Tuskir got close enough.

The attacker was but a few mere steps away as his brought back axe would now soon reach the apex height of his incoming downward swing, but that is exactly when and where the human wanted him to be.

"TUNDRA HUNT!" Michael's voice would roar out strained and gruff from the bottom of his throat, his hazel brown eyes lighting up teal as his bloody expression dimly glowed with the druidic magic of the only spell he remembered properly from what he'd seen Urla use.

In a near instant the axe would be thundering down with the force and intent of a bloody executioner to decapitate a new victim on his chopping block, but the violent blow would be stopped in its tracks as fast as a breaking freight train about to derail. Michael stepped in with a dirt kicking forward step, moving up close and personal, away from the axe blade. His body would contort and weave leaning to the right while his left arm, would sneak and slither from under and the outside of the Tuskir's swinging right arm, hooking over it into an overhand hook that would find its mark into the boarman's side of the head and jaw.

Steel met fur, flesh and bone and it scraped and tore akin to how a rusty saw tears wood instead of cutting it while being bashed from the back by a rock like fury. The knuckle duster skinned part of the Tuskir's hide from the bone of his jaw on the side lip, leaving it with a mushed up flap turning to a gash down to the side of the chin, while the bone cracked, the jaw's hinge unlatched itself loose, with a wet dull set of pops, unhearable from the two screaming and clashing fighters. As the moving bone hung from the muscles that operated it before, the freshly injured Tuskir let out a half choked squeal, as his weapon dropped from inbetween his twitching digits.

The other two could barely react as this whole motion went in action, the one carrying the club already charging to aid, while the armored boar man caught up from his further behind position. As they regrouped Michael continued his assault upon their comrade, his body twisted left, his knuckle duster pulling away, while his bare right fist came up in another hook punch that hit with a speed his own fist nearly couldn't handle. The extruding knuckles of his index and middle fingers made contact with the orbital bone and temple of his opponent, scraping the skin on his fist deeply due to the bristled fur as the fragile bones got cracked into.

The human's tuskir opponent, now unarmed, seemed to be about to crumple by himself, but before the humanoid shaped meat sack could even properly hit the dirt, Michael's body swung back one more time, impaling his knuckle duster deep into his ribs, with a low diagonal uppercut to the liver, tossing the body to the side. "ONE SERVING UP AND READY! DONE BLOODY RARE!" He'd declare with a loud scream while his eyes darted to stare down his next two incoming attackers.

The club wielder had reached him by now and with an incoming swing already just about in position to make contact. With barely half a moment to spare Michael would lift his left arm to block the blow with his forearm, the steel rods on his bracer taking the damage of the blow, reducing a broken bone to a bruised one. The force traveled through him and knocked him onto his right side, not unlike an actual ragdoll.

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"I'LL KILL YA! FER BAGGO!" The club wielding tuskir yelled as he brought his weapon down, only to spray dirt and splinters, as Michael rolled away and then stumbled back to his feet.

The armored tuskir gave him no chance of respite as he came charging from his flank with a sideway axe chop aimed at his gut. Before his pink skin could be slit open by the blow and his dirtied shirt to be covered in his viscera and crimson, the human managed to lean back, only to stumble into an accidental back roll that landed him on his ass and just a bit out of the pinching manuever's reach.

"Fucking hell. Give a brother some breathing room. Ha ha ha..." He'd say while scrambling to his feet once more using his right hand, while he rubbed his bloody knuckle duster onto his left cheek mixing his own with his knocked down opponent's viscera.

"KEEP PRESSURIN' 'IM! I GOTS HIS FLANK!" The armored one said, dropping the torch on the ground, switching his hand axe from his left hand to the right one as he rushed past his ally to grab the hand axe of their fallen comrade.

"DON' GOTS TO TELL ME TWICE! RGHAAAAA! " The club wielding fighter roared as he charged Michael with his hefty wooden weapon, the crude bashing tool proceeding to then come in a rain like pourdown of blows.

Michael held his guard up as blow after blow came upon him, the steel rods of his bracers shredding bits of wood off of the weapon that battered him. Dust flew off his body with each hammering that connected with his protection gear, the wood of the club crackling and popping akin to a whining accompaniament to this drumming beat down.

'I need an opening. Calm down. This is nothing... his blows are nothing... they are nothing compared to that thing.' Michael thought as his inner pep talk reverbed in his head with each blow against his reinforced limbs. His mind would rush flashes of the fight with the undead golem, its relentless assault, how he got carved up by it, the pain he felt and those cold blue burning eyes. 'THIS IS NOTHING! COMPARED TO THAT THING... YOU ARE A SMALL FRY! AND ONE THAT NEEDS TO BREATH!' he tought while clenching his teeth, his arm muscles holding tight akin to unyelding walls, adjusting only slightly to better bear the continous assault of blows at slightly different angles.

The human could see with the corner of his eye the armored Tuskir, now wielding two handaxes as he began advancing quickly from his flank, starting to close in. A knot began forming in his gut as he was unable to move from his position where he stood, not unlike a stubborn nail that would get repeatedly bashed by a mallet. 'Breath... thud, thud, thud, thud breath, you bastard... thud, thud, thud - IT'S YOUR LAAAAAST!'

The bashing Tuskir paused his barrage of strikes a moment too long, leaving enough of an opening for Michael to release a quick, yet less powerful, hook from his viscera covered knuckle duster, smashing it right into the elongated snout of the boar man, scraping off fur and skin as the smeared metal got a new fresh light coating of blood. The squealing reel back was just enough for him to get out of the way, before his flanker hit him with a double axe blow, one downwards, another sideways.

"Keep him pinned under your club, again!" The frustrated dual wielder yelled.

His ally would comply chasing quickly after the backing out human, only for his legs to begin staggering with each step. He'd slow down tremendously, starting to hack and cough as he even dropped to a knee, holding a hand around his throat, while his weapon slipped out of his grip.

"KRANK! WHA' HAPPENED?!" The armored one yelled as he rushed to his ally, his attention dropping off the human as held onto his comrade. He saw that blow, how could it do so much damage to his ally?

Only when he got close did he realize it wasn't the blow itself that did this. Krank, with his club before him, had begun foaming crimson pink at the mouth, blood dripping down his nose, jaws and out of his eyes. Quickly, like a flickering candle about to consume its final bits of fillament, Krank had become estinguished, his blood shot eyes going dull and void of any life.

"Just a lil' bit of some me poison, it never killed anyone, at least anyone who's not me." Michael said while catching his breath, staring down his final assailant. He's speaking would be slow and pointed, as he focused on not letting his arms tremble, as the battering they took left them reeling in a pain he could feel slightly, dulled by the poison.

At that comment the armored Tuskir seemed to flinch as he got away from the body that had fallen ill. "You bleedin' bastard... Ya just slaughtered them with nary a second thought." He squealed angrily as he held his twin handaxes.

"Heh... hah... I'm sorry, but isn't that what you were going to do to me as well? Hmm... I smell a ~hypocrite~! But... it's alright. I'm one as well. So... lil' piggy. Are you going to tell me who orchestrated this whole... shindig for me, or... are you going to make me ask less nicely? You three don't feel like the brains of this whole operation." Michael asked while catching his breath, his eyes slipping to look at one of the dead bodies, before his mind flashed back at Spek... bleeding on the ground, for a moment.

The twin axe wielding Tuskir, stood up proper just about to take a fighting stance, but there was a clear hesitation in his movements. "I-I've nothin' more ta say to the likes of ya."

"Are you sure about that? Really think long and hard about it, 'cause it might change the amount of minutes you have to live into years. Trust me on one thing, when I say I'll find out the truth regardless whether you're alive or not, believe it, even if I have to awaken the dying flesh of your brethren and ask them who put you up to this, or yours for that matter. Three of you couldn't win against me. You got some extra armor on, you're like a fruit with a harder peel and I don't mind bashin' ya open to get to the squishy bits." Michael said with a calmness that overtook him akin to an actor in his moment of glory on the stage. His words spoke with a merciless gross ease, as if he was not talking to a person, but an animal he got tired of playing around with.

"Y-you-... you are going to be our doom. He knows you are. That's why we got paid extra rations to deal with you. Its... if you come with us, it will be the end o' the Rock Backs." The armored combatant as his breathing hiked with uncertainty.

Michael noticed immediately the change in dynamic, the confident fighter has started to lose steam in his resolve. 'Damn... is this what it feels like to be an actual devil's advocate.'

"Aha. So there is a need for food, if you are rationing. You were there with the rest, you saw what tools I brought to those Hay-yen. If you were to observe their encampment, you'd start to see them thrive. You know of what I spoke with Bruyza, this deal is in your people's favor and if doesn't prove fruitful, I'd be swarmed by your entire tribe. But you... you'd rob your people of the chance at a better life, because of what? Because someone said I'll ruin you all and paid you food to do it? With what proof was I accused? You saw proof of what I promised Bruyza, for the deal we made. And oh I love deals..." The human said as he lowered his arms, while starting to approach. His guard was down, his body loose, gesticulating with his hands as he advanced leisurely.

"Y-yes we were wondering about them at the time... eh? Stay back! D-don't get closer! Y-you're a daeman, that's all the proof that is needed!" The Tuskir yelled as he held one of the axes up, yet that didn't deter Michael.

The human kept approaching, just a bit slower than before. "Hey, I get it. You hear 'hell' and all the worst nightmares of your mind, come to surface. But you gotta remember. I have already made a deal with your boss. Daemen are deal makers, ain't they? Sadly, this time I was so pressed by the situation, I couldn't even sneak in some funnily worded clause to get me out of this situation. Bummer, heh. But, that's the good thing for you. As much as I really didn't want to go to your kingdom of rock eaters, I'm sadly forced to."

"W-wait... you didn't wan' ta come with us? How could I even trust a word out of your mouth?!" The boar man argued, still suspicious.

Michael sighed and facepalmed. "If you were in my place what would you choose to do if you had the power and didn't care much about morality or gave a fuck about people? First choice, stay in the tiny village that revels you for the effort you put in, which was a breeze for you, delight yourself with food and a bed full o' slaves that do your bidding... or be forced by a stupid situation, put on you by an armored mortal nobody and having to keep your end of the bargain towards your summoners and GO to the middle of the FUCKING MOUNTAINS to help some mortal meat sacks, that don't want to trust you, to not starve? Eh?! Please enlighten me. What would you have picked?!"

The Tuskir stared at him almost like a kid stared at a surprise pop quiz on a Friday. "Ehm... the first one?"

"Good hells below! You must be a fucking genius among your kin! Yes! The eating and fucking with low effort! Exactly! Of course... that is what you'd want!" Michael said slapping his own forehead as if he hadn't thought about it. "Yet... I am still here. On my way to meet Bruyza and I had to deal with you lot. So friend, my condolences for the loss of your allies, as little as I can care about them, I understand you most likely did. How about this. To make sure their deaths were not in vain. Take three minutes to really think on this one last time and then we can see. Maybe we go to Bruyza together, with two bodies needing funerals and an explanation to the situation OR... I go alone to Bruyza with three heads in a bloody sack, a half assed explanation and to reveal someone uses their rations to have his subjects do their bidding in secret behind his armored ass."

The Tuskir would hold his axe up for the longest three minutes of his life, while Michael was now just a few steps ahead of him, still relaxed, disarmingly leisure, in fact. The boar man's arm trembled as did the resolve in his gaze and soon enough... the weapon got lowered, which prompted Michael to sigh mentally with grattitude.