As Nobu lunged forward, his twin swords aimed for Fallow's arms, Fallow’s eyes snapped open. A smirk tugged at his lips, the kind that sent a shiver down Nobu’s spine. Something wasn’t right. The confidence in that grin, the calm steadiness in Fallow’s stance—it all screamed danger.

At the last possible moment, Fallow's posture shifted slightly, his blade shot forward like a viper, thrusting toward Nobu's chest with surgical precision. Nobu barely reacted in time, his form glitching out of reality. The blade pierced nothing but air as Nobu reappeared behind Fallow, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. Yet before he could capitalize on his position, Fallow unfazed, twisted his grip. With a fluid motion, he swung the blade backward, its arc threatening to cleave Nobu in two. Nobu ducked just in time, the blade slicing the air above his head.

The clash continued in a relentless dance of precision and agility. Fallow’s strikes came faster with every swing, his movements a blur of deadly efficiency. Nobu’s glitches barely kept him alive, each flicker of his form narrowly avoiding the blade that sought to end him. Sweat dripped down his fur, his breathing heavy as he struggled to keep up with the human warrior’s unyielding assault.

Fallow’s voice cut through the chaos, calm and condescending. “Tired already, mutt? I thought you were supposed to be faster.”

Nobu grits his teeth, ignoring the taunt. He focused on the rhythm of Fallow’s attacks, searching for a pattern, an opening, anything to turn the tide. But Fallow gave him no quarter. Each strike was calculated, a step ahead of Nobu’s reactions. The relentless pressure was more than physical—it was psychological, a game of endurance and wits.

“You’re slowing down,” Fallow sneered as his blade blurred toward Nobu once again. “That fancy trick of yours—what do you call it? Glitching? It’s just delaying the inevitable.”

Nobu’s eyes narrowed. He knew Fallow was baiting him, but the truth in those words stung. His energy was waning, and Fallow’s unrelenting attacks kept him from regaining his footing.

“You’re not bad,” Fallow admitted as he lunged, his blade aimed for Nobu's heart. Nobu’s instincts kicked in, and he glitched once again, reappearing behind his opponent, his twin swords poised to strike Fallow's unguarded back.

“...But you’re predictable.”

Nobu’s eyes widened as Fallow didn’t turn. Instead, with an almost casual motion, his left hand darted to his belt, drawing a short sword in a reverse grip.

Time slowed.

In one swift motion, he thrust it backward, the sword moving with terrifying speed. Nobu’s instincts screamed at him to glitch, and he did, but not quickly enough.

Pain exploded in his abdomen as the shorter blade found its mark. Nobu’s glitch had carried him away, but the sword glitched with him, embedding itself deep into his flesh and muscles. He let out a guttural scream, his knees buckling as he clutched at the wound. Blood seeped through his fingers, staining the ground beneath him.

Fallow turned slowly, his expression a mask of smug satisfaction. He flicked the blade, spraying blood onto the already bloodied ground, and inspected it with disdain. “Tch. Filthy mutt blood stained my rare-grade sword. “How utterly repugnant,” he spat, glancing over his shoulder at Nobu, who collapsed to his knees, clutching his wound.

Nobu gasped for air, his vision swimming as the pain threatened to consume him.

Fallow loomed over him, his voice dripping with mockery. “You thought you were clever, didn’t you? All those glitching here, glitching there, dancing around me like a pesky fly. But let me ask you—how does it feel to realize you were dancing to my tune all along?”

Nobu’s ears twitched at the words, his mind racing even as pain clouded his thoughts. “What... do you mean?” he rasped.

Fallow chuckled, the sound cold and devoid of humour. “Oh, it’s simple. I never needed to turn to defend my back. Every swing, every strike, every time I left an opening—it was all a game to me,” he said, “I let you think I couldn’t defend my back, swinging my sword whenever you appeared behind me. Made you believe I was a one-trick swordsman, relying only on reach and brute force. But all the while, I was setting the trap. Waiting for you to get comfortable.”

Realization dawned on Nobu, his eyes widening in shock. Fallow had been manipulating him from the start, forcing him into patterns, exploiting his instincts. The relentless attacks, the calculated movements—it had all been a trap, and Nobu had walked straight into it.

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Fallow continued, savoring the moment. “You got cocky. Thought you’d turn the tables, strike me down from behind. And that’s when I struck. No hesitation, no need to turn. Just a simple thrust with my off-hand sword.”

Fallow knelt slightly, leveling his gaze with Nobu’s. “How does it feel, realizing you’ve been outplayed? That your precious tricks were nothing more than a fleeting amusement to me?”

Nobu’s grip on his wound tightened, his claws digging into his own flesh as he fought against the encroaching darkness. His voice was a low whisper, filled with defiance. “This... isn’t over.”

Fallow laughed, rising to his full height. “Oh, it’s over, mutt. You just haven’t accepted it yet.” He raised his blade flaring in the sunlight.

----------------------------------------

At the same time, Ivo took a step forward, his body trembling under its own weight. His voice, though hoarse and broken, pierced defiantly through the battlefield.

“I’m going to take you down, one way or another. Scarhead!”

The words were bold, but his stance betrayed him. Each movement was a battle in itself, his legs threatening to give way with every step.

Boko smirked, his hulking form casting a shadow over Ivo. “How many times have you said that already? Is that the best you’ve got? Pathetic.”

Ivo ignored the taunt, raising a hand to his forehead in his signature dramatic pose, leaning back with exaggerated flair. “These aren’t just empty words. Pretty soon, you’ll be tasting dirt.”

Boko tilted his head, his grin widening. “You think a few flashy moves are going to save you? Look at you, wobbling like a drunk. I’ve crushed warriors twice your size, and they didn’t whimper nearly as much.”

“Talk all you want,” Ivo shot back, his voice a mixture of defiance and exhaustion. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall. And you, are overdue for a crash.”

Boko let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy this.”

The fight began in an instant.

Ivo launched forward, touching a scattering of rocks with his fingertips. The air vibrated with the hum of his telekinetic pneuma as the stones shot toward Boko like tiny missiles.

Boko didn’t flinch. His arms, thick as steel girders, moved lazily to deflect the projectiles. One struck his cheek, bouncing off harmlessly. Another grazed his jaw, earning nothing more than a raised eyebrow.

“Is this it?” Boko asked, spreading his arms mockingly. “Still throwing pebbles at a mountain.”

Ivo gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his temple. His mind screamed at him to stop, to rest, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. His hands darted toward more rocks, hurling them with everything he could muster.

The rocks battered Boko’s chest, arms, and legs, but the giant of a man kept walking forward, his steps slow and deliberate.

“Still trying?” Boko said, a note of amusement in his tone.

The rocks barely caused an itch. One struck Boko’s ribs with a faint clink like a child tapping a spoon against a pot. His grin stretched wider as he reached Ivo, who stood panting, his vision blurring.

“You’re done,” Boko growled.

Ivo staggered back, his legs giving out beneath him. He gasped, feeling the weight of the moment press against him like an iron vice. His Pneuma was gone, and his energy drained to the last drop. The world around him faded his vision narrowing to the monstrous figure now towering over him.

Boko’s fists clenched, his knuckles cracking audibly. “You wasted my time,” he said, voice cold and heavy. “Now you’ll pay for it.”

The first punch landed with the force of a battering ram, driving Ivo to the ground. Pain flared through his ribs as Boko’s iron-like fists pummeled him mercilessly. Each strike was merciless, relentless.

Ivo tried to shield himself, raising an arm, but Boko grabbed it, twisting it with a sickening crack. The scream that tore from Ivo’s throat was drowned by Boko’s laughter.

“You wanted time, huh?” Boko snarled, lifting Ivo by the collar. “Time for what? To bleed out slower?”

Ivo coughed, blood spilling from his lips. “T-to save them…” he rasped, his voice barely audible.

Boko’s grin twisted into something crueler. “Save who? The villagers? The weak? You can’t even save yourself.”

Another punch, harder than the last, knocked Ivo’s head back. Blood sprayed from his mouth, splattering the ground in dark crimson. Boko didn’t stop. His fists came down again and again, each blow fueled by unrestrained savagery.

Ivo’s body fell limp, his consciousness slipping. But Boko wasn’t finished. Grabbing him by the skull, Boko lifted Ivo high into the air like a trophy. Blood streamed from Ivo’s battered body, pooling beneath them.

“Look at him now!” Boko roared, his voice echoing across the battlefield. “This is what happens to anyone stupid enough to stand against me!”

The villagers, watching from a distance, shuddered in silent horror. The glimmer of hope they had clung to moments ago was crushed under Boko’s monstrous grin as he tightened his grip, lifting Ivo even higher.