(“Them too.”) Daniel thought.

Furor threw his sword and the priest stopped it with his magic, leaving it floating before him. In the time his body was stopped and the sword was thrown, Furor closed the distance between them. He kicked it into him while shouting “Stay Fucking still!”

The blade moved but the priest stopped it when it touched his skin.

(“Got ya bastard!”) Furor thought with a smirk.

It looked like the length of his sword was more than far enough out of his range. It was about a metre, so at minimum that was the distance he had to keep between them if he wanted to stand a chance of killing this little shit.

He gave the blade's hilt another kick, and shouted “Keep there fucker!”

Now he had an avenue of victory, he had no shame using his voice to keep the boy permanently stunned. Each shout would allow him to drive the blade further into the priest's body, and each time priest would stop the blade.

The priest clearly showed irritation at his tactics but there was nothing he could do. He hadn't considered the cooldown of Furor’s magic. Even though he had a limit on how quickly he could stop things.

But why didn't he do this at the start?

Each he stopped his blade, he noticed the tall and unsightly man, breathing more ragged and forcing himself to do another kick.

(“Ah, this is a final gambit.”)

If that was the case if he could escape…

The point of the blade was now inside the chest of the small man and although he didn't show it, Furor didn't imagine it was pleasant.

(“Just give up you bastard, I can do this all day.”)

“stay fucking still!” He said, sounding noticeably hoarse.

His throat felt like it was rubbed with sandpaper but he didn't care if this put him out of commission for the rest of the assault. This guy was worth doing something like that for.

But with his next kick, he noticed something odd. It usually felt he was kicking it against a wall, and barely moved. This time he was sure there was no movement. The priest had his eyes closed and seemed to be concentrating.

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Furor opened his mouth once more but the priest moved again. He ran around the space in front of Furor and got behind him after, moving a hand to his side and freezing him.

Something strange happened immediately after. The priest didn't attack and he heard the shout that he tried to stop him with, though substantially less intense than the sound he produced.

The instant he gained movement of his body, he tried a sidekick that was blocked by the priest.

The priest scoffed and backed away to the side, grabbing his chain.

“You're a real piece of work, you know that young man? I don't think I've had to force myself to such an extent before.”

The priest moved sluggishly compared to earlier. Was his magic still having effects on him?

“I didn't think stopping your shout would consume so much mana. Ugh, sound really is fast.”

“S-sound?” Furor commented.

“Yes, sound. I didn't know until recently, but I read a book the other day from an academy in this country. Did you know that sound is a physical thing that moves?”

The only reason this conversation even happened was because both men were trying to buy time to recuperate their magics.

“(I should be ready in 30 seconds to finish this bastard off. Heh, talk all you want, just don't blame me when you get caught with your pants down.) That so?”

“Indeed, but I admit, stopping something as intangible as sound was quite difficult, especially considering the fact it seems your mana has been imbued in it. It took three attempts until I could escape.”

His sword dropped from mid-air and Furor had no issue running towards and grabbing it.

“Want a fucking trophy or something? The fight isn't fucking over yet.”

He ran to him and opened his mouth, sword tightly gripped. His arms suddenly tugged him backwards and nearly left him on the floor. He looked behind and noticed what it was. It was his sword that had the odd feeling. Trying to pull it up when he was getting back up felt like trying to pull it out of a pit of tar.

He heard footsteps but the sound of splashing water came after. The priest was on the floor, face first, absolutely soaked.

He pushed off the floor and went back to his feet with another water ball slamming against his body.

“That stung quite a bit.” He commented before Furor shouted once again. He held a looser grip on his sword and like earlier it left him and floated mid-air.

(“Screw it!”)

He pulled up his pants leg and revealed a small knife held onto his leg by a leather strap. He pulled out the knife and aimed for his neck. If he could get it in halfway, he didn't see a way for the priest to survive. He didn't care for his throat any more. It had gotten worse in the few more shouts he made. Instead of sandpaper, it felt the red-hot iron being rubbed against the meat of his throat.

He continued his shouts, undeterred and the priest no longer had the capacity to stop him, at least from Furor’s perspective.

He moved his knife to his throat and unsurprisingly he was stopped when it touched his neck. Just a few more thrusts and this battle would be finished. There lay a more troublesome bastard in the dungeon but with Elizabeth around he felt no worry leaving it to her.

But in his haste, he forgot something. Something very careless on his part, that the adrenaline and pain of battle obscured.