One last chance. One last valiant step upwards before whirling in a final slashing spin. One last hope to save her.
By divine providence, immense luck, or skill worthy of a legendary warrior, the result had no margin for error. Too many things could have gone wrong.
But they didn’t.
Murtoa of Lakia is but a human warrior specializing in a craft, and until his final intervention, a dragon was laying waste to a city. Now, they are all falling from the sky.
He didn’t knight himself. No feat of bravery led to his legend. And yet, he became who he is. Some call him a hero and pray to meet him.
But, he is just a human. He does his best, but is far from omnipotent. Many hands reaching out are snatched away long before he ever knows they existed.
All he can do, as a human warrior, is take the hands he can reach.
He pulls her by the wrist as the ground miles below rapidly approaches. Their fates are out of their hands now, but he can ensure she is saved if and when he is.
Mury isn’t sure how he’s survived this long, which is precisely why he rarely acknowledges it or analyzes it. If he breathes, he hunts. If his breath ceases, so be it. Until then, he has a job to do. And, this job is nearly complete.
The young girl is unconscious, bleeding from wounds to several of her joints, as well as the back of her neck. It’s likely her breathing is shallow, if she’s breathing at all. There’s time, if she can be brought to a healer quickly. Unfortunately, said healers are on the ground, and he and she are falling from the sky.
Still though, Murtoa of Lakia is not concerned. It’ll work out or it won’t. Stressing over the fall will only cause him to go into shock and die. The girl is fortunate to already be unconscious.
Mury carefully sheathes the treasured family sword gifted to him in hopes of helping him specifically. He could say nothing else but how the blade has served him well. He hopes Kolaya finds the stories believable as much as pleasing.
His vision is restoring thanks to the frost relenting, but he’s looking towards the sky. He doesn’t need to know.
It’ll either work out, or it won’t.
***
The energy around her is tense and fearful. Confusion and desperation are nearly palpable in the air. But, she feels nothing but confidence and pleasure. It’s been so long since she felt like this. The warm rays of sun on her face, the wind in her hair. Even the smoke and fumes around her cannot dampen her mood now.
The dragon is all but defeated, and only ensuring Murtoa’s survival is the priority. She has used almost all of her magical energy. Such a meager amount she can wield. However, she has an option no one else can exercise.
And it all started with a little meekness.
A slap yanks her out of her thoughts though, and the young fairy looks at Maerin, her senior whose wish has been expended. “WH-!? HOW DARE YOU!?”
“SNAP OUT OF IT!” barks the mature fairy. “Limited wish! You won’t have to spend your wish. But…”
“Blood magic?” she replies. She pauses. She knows she needs to hesitate, but it does make sense. It’s truly a win-win. “A-Agreed. But…”
“We’re on it.”
Maerin gestures at Tomoba the prince, Gyrryth the spellshot, and Coco the techromancer as the three dribble blood from their hands into a small bowl. In general, blood magic curses the source of the blood and binds them magically in varying ways to the caster using the blood. But, because it’s basically the blood and not necessarily the source for most spells, spreading across multiple people actually has very few down sides. The most common curse, especially if blood magic isn’t over-used, is pain-sharing. The three, or rather four including Maerin, whose hand is already sliced open given the blood dripping from her closed hand, will share Lykha’s pain divided across their four souls, lessening it for each of them. It’s often a favorite of cultists, giving them a lot of power without wiping out their followers with any one spell.
She feels touched knowing she has such loyal companions. That, too, is such a bright and warm feeling to her, and she’s excited to play it all out. They don’t know, but they don’t need to. She can do anything a young fairy can do, and this works in her advantage.
The young fairy drinks the blood quickly, and Maerin instructs, “Repeat after me; ‘On this noble sacrifice, hear me and grant my wish:’”
She repeats the phrase, “On this noble sacrifice, hear me and grant my wish:
My wish for another is that the named be spared; save him from the fate he bares; Murtoa of Lakia.”
She repeats sincerely, ensuring the naivete is genuine; “My wish for another is that the named be spared; save him from the fate he bares; Murtoa of Lakia.”
She can feel the swirling power start in her gut; the basic source and sea of energy in the body. She easily visualizes what needs to happen; a human warrior falling losing all momentum safely before the ground, releasing him from the impending doom. Unlike the all-powerful wish, though, a blood-magic wish is less reliant on her and more reliant on the target’s “marks”; his name and his fate are the key words; Murtoa of Lakia and impending death from falling. The all-powerful wish is created in the mind of the fairy casting it, while the limited wish she’s using now -controllable by the caster- relies on words of fate and destiny, fortune and misfortune, life, and death, and similar such markers of the soul. Essentially, she’s making him invincible for a short time, but it also acts as a signal to the spirits.
And for that, she smiles.
The group watches the tiny, reflective speck in the sky as it falls, and a wisp of glowing energy races off towards it from Lykha’s body.
Maerin’s wish was expended on a Murtoa of Lakia that Maerin imagined, rather than the real one. And conversely, the blood-magic wish will only work on the real Murtoa of Lakia. If anyone doubted now, this would be the final word.
A column of water -liquid and clear life-granting water- rises from the sand suddenly, reaching into the sky to the tiny shining speck.
The water eases back down, flattening out into a gentle pool in the sand far below them. She smiles, murmuring softly, “Merzianne?” Her smile shifts into a smirk, but she’s pulled out of her thought by Maerin asking, “What was that?”
She quickly blushes, squeaking, “I-I was trying to say amazing, but flubbed it with miracle.” She sniffs, wiping her eyes, “I-... I can’t believe it worked.”
She looks to the location in the desert, smiling happily, even as Maerin continues to look at her.
Coco, thankfully, asks, “Di’... Di’ it work?”
Maerin replies, “It looks like it. We need to get down there, quickly, and make sure Mury is okay.”
A deep voice carrying femenine traits startles them, stating, “There is a way. Come.”
The five whirl to find a heavily armored drakyk female, though her helmet is removed this time. She looks like she was in a fight, which is fair. However, her tone had no hostility, nor does the young fairy sense any duplicity. The drakyk is being genuine.
Gyrryth replies softly, “We would be grateful. As you know, my key was taken when I resigned.”
Eandenui, the drakyk paladin, nods softly. She remarks as she leads them, and the five reluctantly follow, “I heard on my way here that the portal activated not long ago. I came only to see it with my own eyes, but to think, someone came INTO the city in spite of all that was occurring…”
The four travelling companions of the legendary warrior smile at each other. They all know one person who wouldn’t hesitate.
Coco, curious and alert to the meaning, though, asks, “Wait!? Woul’ne tha mean ‘Bando HAS a key, if’n ye takin’ us to it now?”
The female drakyk nods. “The Arc Keys are the only way to activate the portal; a means of reaching the peak of the city in an instant. It must have been a Holy Order cleric or paladin, come to help with the evacuation.”
Coco snickers, causing Eandenui to glance at her. The teen waves it off, saying, “Pay me no thinks."
Maerin, however, states to Gyrryth mostly, “He wouldn’t have stolen it, would he? It HAD to have been given to him.”
“Who?” asks the paladin.
Gyrryth replies to Maerin, glancing at Eandenui in such a way as to hint to her that they know who it is. “It is most likely the day he was knighted, he was honored by the Holy Church as well, or perhaps he obtained it on another mission.”
Eandenui chuckles. “I knew it… He’s the only one, isn’t he?”
Gyrryth snorts in amusement, remarking, “You know of him?”
The female drakyk replies over her shoulder, “Who doesn’t? He’s as infamous as he is famous. ‘Murtoa of Lakia’. Can’t count how many times the high priests complain about him.”
“Complain?” asks Coco, surprised. “‘Bando makes monsties no more. Methinks he makes life pretty comfy-sof’ for tax-ticklers like you. No ‘fense.”
“None taken. And, you would think. But, what greater cause of doubt in the spirits and God could there be than a lone man slaying the monsters of the world?”
This silences the conversation momentarily. Eandenui wasn’t trying to be snarky or anything, but the statement carries a heavy weight.
One that will bear down on them soon enough.
In the meantime, the group arrives at the portal station; something like a shrine beneath an archway of six fairies dancing in a circle, their statuesque forms floating via the magic-seeming magnetism used in other areas of the city. The two fairies and Coco gawk wondrously at the monument, while Eandenui activates the circle on the ground using a key on a pedestal. The circle’s glyphs begin to glow, and she states, “Stay calm.”
Within an instant of a flash, the group finds themselves at a warehouse-like room with vehicles, much darker than the church-grounds the other portal is located at. The circle is the only indication that there is a portal, as this end of the portal’s connection is much more plain.
The paladin leads them to one of the Holy Order sand cruisers, which is much larger and differently designed than the ones they’ve seen thus far.
They manage to find the still-settling crater, marked by soaked sand quickly drying, but darkened by the magically summoned fountain of water.
What they find at the center of the wetted sand, however, is one more surprise in a day that seemed unable to provide any more.
****
Murtoa coughs. His body aches, and he’s almost completely exhausted. He uses the moment to rest what little he’ll be able to get. He knows what’s coming, other than his friends, and they won’t be happy.
He shifts out from under the young woman. She’s panting shallowly and quickly. Good. She’s not dead. But, she’s at the threshold undoubtedly.
Nevertheless, he unfolds the thermal blanket from his gear bag and covers her body to protect her from the sun. Until a healer arrives, she’s helpless, and the sun is mercilessly clear in the sky other than the disrupted sand, mist, and dust slowly settling around them. He slowly rolls over to find the creature where it flopped to the ground. He needs to finish it off before they arrive, or the same could be done all over again.
The creature, far less formidable without a host, is slowly trying to crawl towards the girl. It resembles a starfish, in a sense, with thick, floppy arms for anchoring to the host rather than moving, scaly skin, and small, vestigial wings and horns. Blood is trickling from its mouth, though the wound it sustained has already healed.
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Fortunately, Murtoa is properly prepared for his adversary.
He withdraws a vial containing a glowing green liquid, reaching down to grip the creature by the back of its neck. It instantly squeals angrily, trying to curl its body to grip his arm. It could easily fracture his femur, let alone any other bone if it latches on, but it’s relatively harmless from the back of its neck. The cat-sized parasitic monster flails and twists in futility, and Murtoa carefully studies it to ensure it’s not actually hers.
Sure enough, it’s branded with the Holy Order’s glyph for restraining. And, in usual fashion, it worked as well as a human trying to control a dragon could expect. Additionally, if it was her familiar, they would share a birthmark or some other obvious link.
Satisfied that this creature is a maigon, Mury pours some of the potion forcefully into its mouth. The maigon squirms and squeals, gurgling on the liquid as a sand cruiser groans to a stop.
Lykha is the fastest to exit the cruiser, screaming excitedly, “MURY!”
“Stay back.” His voice is unusually stern, but it’s critical this creature not attach to another host. The potion will weaken it further, but until it is dead, it is a catastrophically dangerous threat.
He doesn’t need all of the potion; just a spoonful’s amount or so is enough for a creature this size. Thankfully, a maigon’s true power draws from its host. And, with the potion ingested by it, he carefully stows the potion and draws the sword, carefully lining the blade up with its mouth, even as it continues to flail, though its movements are slowed now.
With one swift motion, Murtoa of a Lakia slays a soulless dragon.
The creature ceases all motion, and he waits a moment to ensure it doesn’t regenerate. Maigons aren’t intelligent on their own, but they’re possibly one of the most difficult creatures to kill if it isn’t done properly.
Content that it breathed its last, Mury withdraws the blade, stating loudly as the group gathers, heavy one drakyk paladin, “Lykha, if you have any magic left, please heal the girl.” He gestures over his shoulder as he sheathes the sword. Before Lykha can answer, the paladin states, “I have plenty. Allow me.”
Mury looks at Gyrryth, who nods reassuringly, and the human warrior nods in return. “Please do.”
“M-Maribel…” The premier’s son, Tomoba, stumbles forward as his gaze is locked on the girl under Mury’s thermal blanket. “Y-... You… You saved her…?”
Murtoa’s answer has to be curt. There isn’t time right now. “She’ll live, thanks to the paladin. But,...”
Lykha hugs Mury’s helmet, saying excitedly, “Oh, Mury! I knew you could do it! I love you so much! You truly are my hero!”
There’s an awkward pause for everyone around them as they all look at the young fairy.
Coco murmurs, confused, “T-Tricksie?”
Lykha coos, even as she hugs his helmet affectionately, “I’m sorry, I just can’t hold it back anymore. I’m so excited! Th-This was such an amazing day in the end! I can’t believe it! I’m floating!”
Murtoa replies bluntly, “You’re a fairy.” Even with the fairy’s body blocking most of his view, and the crack in his visor undoubtedly adding some distraction, he looks around to survey the horizon. Dust signifies their approach.
“What is that?” asks the young fairy as she points at the deceased creature in his hand.
Coco adds, “Yeah, and where’s be the scalebag?” She looks around for the dragon.
Mury notices both Maerin and Gyrryth watching him for his answer, more reserved about what to expect, and likely knowing better no matter the answer he gives. He replies, tossing the creature away, “Nothing more than a parasite. The dragon likely fell somewhere. It won’t be a problem again.” He turns to Eandenui, “How is she?”
The paladin, whose hands are glowing with the healing magic she’s performing, replies even with her eyes closed, “This child shall survive. The injuries were severe, but not irreparable.”
“Good. Take all the time you need. She is the priority.” He pulls Lykha gently off of his helmet, even as she gives him wanting expressions he’s never seen from her. He hands her to Coco, saying, “Stay close to the paladin. If you need help, call out.” He gives a subtle sideways glance at the drakyk paladin, and Coco’s eyes widen. The teen nods, but Lykha’s responses continue to be strange, “Aww… Mury! You know, a brave knight is entitled to a kiss from his fair maiden after he rescues her.” She pleads with her hands and eyes, but his focus is on the incoming threat.
“Not now. Gyrryth, now is a good time to dissociate with me. Take them as soon as the girl can be moved and,...”
Gyrryth, having looked at the incoming cloud of sand, replies firmly, “I cannot, Sir Murtoa. I shall not let you stand alone.”
Maerin hovers up to Mury’s shoulder, adding as she opens the flask she just extracted from his gear bag, “I’m pretty pumped. Jus’ helped fight a dragon. I think…”
“You don’t have to…”
“Shut it.” She takes a drink from the flask, adding after letting out a “Puah! I like our relationship. In debt to me forever.”
He scoffs, adding, “I warned you I can’t pay very well.”
The mature fairy smiles, presenting a mixture, “Then you can’t afford me killin’ no one.”
He nods. Maerin takes position at his back, sipping another drink before stashing it in her flask holster. She calls out to Lykha and Coco, “Watch‘n’ learn, youngin’s! More ‘n one way to provide combat support!”
Mury says over his shoulder as he draws a dagger, “Be careful, Maerin.”
“Aye! You brung me a refill *hic!*! I shan’n’e fail ye!”
Coco whines, “I want to help!”
Gyrryth answers as he draws one of his spelldusters, though he holds it more like a club, “You two are rear guard. Keep using your slingshot if you want to provide support.”
Murtoa nods at her, and the sand cruisers slow to a stop next to the one his party arrived in.
Again, the day gets more and more bizarre when the apparent attackers turn out to be Holy Order agents. Three paladins, a spellshot, two clerics, and a handful of lightly-armored weapon-wielders form into a basic formation with the clerics in front and the spellshot at the very rear.
The leading cleric from before, Brother Phudre, steps out from behind the group, brandishing an elaborately decorated shield and sword. “Bandits of the desert wastes, you are wanted for treason and kidnapping of the royal family.”
Gyrryth, Murtoa, and Maerin know the game being played, but Coco blurts out, “The goob you say!? ‘Bando saved the girlie, and the jingleboy hired us!”
“Do not let a single one of the traitors escape…”
“Arch Bishop?” Eandenui’s voice surprises the Holy Order, and it’s now that they see her healing the young princess. The paladin armor of the bishop hides his expression, but his posture shifts ever so slightly.
Murtoa states calmly, still not lowering his guard as his free hand reaches into his gear bag, “The maigon is dead. You can lower your guard.”
There’s a tense pause as the standoff holds an icy level of imminence.
Phudre shifts tactics slightly, growling commandingly, “Brother Gyrryth, Sister Eande, do not sully your good standing with these honorless heathens.”
Gyrryth retorts as he draws another of his spelldusters, “Do not sully my honor with false truths, ‘Brother’ Phudre.”
The arch bishop looks at Eandenui, and the female drakyk hesitates. She glances at Gyrryth, and then at the Arch Bishop, and then at Murtoa. She holds her ground, continuing to heal Maribel. “My duty is to save lives, Arch Bishop. I witnessed this group save the city with my own eyes.”
“The eyes can be betrayed, Sister.”
“Bedskin be stabbed a whole box more!” retorts Coco sassily as she loads something into her slingshot. Lykha is hovering next to Coco, understanding the situation and knowing her best position is to stay safe and learn how Maerin is going to help. As of yet, the tipsy fairy has kept her presence completely hidden from the Holy Order agents, and she’s at the ready to throw her mixture at a moment’s notice.
Phudre cautions, “You would throw your lot in with the likes of her? She even speaks heathen.”
Murtoa, Gyrryth, and Lykha all retort coldly with the same seeming idea at the same time, “She means backs.” Lykha adds sassily, “If you were smarter, you’d know that.”
This last statement causes the iron grip on a paladin’s sword to tighten, and a simple gesture with his shoulder starts it all.
The first motions aren’t his, but the first attack that lands belongs to Murtoa, who whips the remainder of his glowing green potion through the pack of fighters wielding unique weapons. It strikes the spellshot in the rearguard as he tries to power up his spelldusters, and the magic glow around him instantly dissipates.
Gyrryth cheers as he meets the paladins step for step, “Ah! So it was, Sir Murtoa! Well met!” He roars confidently as he uses his agility to parry the incoming sword of the first paladin with his spellduster, and he uses his drakyk strength to launch the paladin back in spite of the warrior’s size. Of course, this means the paladin is likely a human, given the force Gyrryth is able to muster, which is enough to impact the second approaching paladin hard enough to stumble them both. This gives the drakyk monster hunter enough advantage to launch himself into an offensive against them both.
Meanwhile, Murtoa uses his dagger more to threaten during his hand-to-hand against an agile fighter using a polearm similar to the one the human warrior used when Lykha met him than to actually parry or attack. His first opponent is comparable in skill to the human warrior, but his structured and disciplined doctrine quickly loses out to Mury’s fluid and experienced hand.
Murtoa uses his forearm bracer to block a strike after several attempts by the priest to slash him, and his arm pivots to grip the shaft before the priest can recoil. One of his comrades attempts to step forward, but Mury, even injured and worn out, is stronger than the first, and he wrenches the priest into a hard boot to the chest. The weapon is ripped free with ease, and he throws his dagger at the second priest, causing the latter to be forced to dodge.
Now gripping a longer weapon, Murtoa slashes the first priest with a twirl of the weapon to give the primary blade momentum. This one has a fixed mace-like grapnel hook on the opposite end, making it a little more limited than Mury’s original one. However, as with the cultivating tools he defeated his imposter with, Murtoa’s ability with a weapon is not limited by the weapon’s design. He quickly defeats the scythe-wielder rushing him with several quick parries and a whirling stab through the abdomen. It’s not clear right away if the colossus slayer is trying to kill the Holy Order fighters, but he’s not holding much back if he’s not.
Taking hold of the scythe, Murtoa deflects a running attack with the polearm, stumbling the axe-wielder attempting to avenge his comrades. In the gap of time provided, Mury shifts his grip on the polearm, launching it like a spear through the crowd. It finds its mark in the spellshot, who is positioning to attack either Gyrryth or the girls. Bearing far less armor than the paladins, the spellshot falls with the impact, crying out briefly.
Maerin shouts from Mury’s shoulderblades, “BOO!” as one of the fighters attempts to flank him. Caught off guard, the sword-wielder opposite the axe wielder receives a dose of Maerin’s blinding gel; a concoction of glass shards, sand, pepper extract, and some other irritant chemicals. While not as potent as some mixes or an alchemical spell, the gel’s glass alone is critical to incapacitating a fighter if she can get any of it in or near the eyes. Attempting to rub the concoction clear does the rest.
The sword-wielder cries out, stumbling back as Mury spins in a wide arc, cutting him down with a broad swing of the scythe’s blade. He twirls the scythe skillfully, pivoting to meet the axe-wielder head-on once more. Maerin yelps as the axe comes down hard, narrowly missing Murtoa’s right collar-bone and shaving the paint off of his shoulder armor as the metal deflects most of the blow. The human warrior shifted just in time, and he attempts to catch the axe-wielder on the down swing.
However, the axe-wielder is more prepared than he looked, hopping back with deft footsteps. The two-handed axe is a heavy weapon, much like the hammer waiting next to the kusarigama wielder. He’s aware of all of them, and he’s aware he’s losing steam.
Still, Murtoa’s practiced temperament in the face of ferocious, agile, aggressive, and powerful monsters shows quickly once more, and he hooks the blade of the scythe around the head of the axe on another brief bout. Before the axe wielder can gain control, the unorthodox knight spins, elbowing the fighter square in the grill of his helmet, and Maerin siezes the moment to throw another of her gels into his helmet from Murtoa’s back. She taunts, “HA! Didn’ see tha’ comin’, did ya!?” She laughs boisterously as Murtoa spins back the opposite direction, impacting the axe-wielder hard with the back of the scythe’s head, which has a toothy hook-like head rather than a full blade. The protrusion is not-so-subtly referred to as a ‘helmripper’, as it was designed around snagging and pulling helmets and armor off of opponents rather forcefully. In this case, the axe-wielder topples into the wet sand as his helmet clatters across the ground with several holes pierced through.
Just as Murtoa is recoiling his momentum, a wire-cable with a hooked knife at the end loops over his arm, and his reactions are ever-instant. He shifts his arm with the momentum, even as the sharp wire cuts into his gauntlet and arm. His hand scoops the knife’s handle, and in the same motion, he grips the wire leading away from his arm to the kusarigama wielder. The weapon is a tricky and dangerous weapon for wielder and target alike, as it takes immense skill to use the blade to its fullest range without harming oneself, especially when the traditional chain of a kusarigama is replaced with a length of grasswire, named so for its similarity to the toothy edge of blades of grass, reducing its hazard to its wielder some, but increasing its ability to injure the target.
Blood drips from Murtoa’s palm where the wire is cutting through his glove and into his hand, but his grip is firm and tight.
The hammer wielder charges Murtoa, but he doesn’t panic or flinch. Instead, even as the kusarigama wielder tries to pull him off balance, Mury steps into the pull, hopping into an agile and precise step that lands a boot on the wire and allows him to gain more control over its leverage when he stomps down on it. In that same step, he launches the scythe in a whirling arc, and the hammer wielder swings to bat the weapon aside. Mury lifts his foot as the wielder of the exotic weapon tries to pull hard, and this launches the wielder off balance. The monster hunter then launches his full weight back, still gripping the wire with his hand and arm, and he throws himself to the ground on his shoulder under a vicious lateral hammer-swing.
The weighted blade-ring, the other end of the kusarigama, patters across the sand, ripped viciously from its wielder’s hands by Murtoa’s skillful use of his own weight.
Still a fluid warrior, Mury springs up, even as Maerin tries to throw another of her concoctions. This one hits the hammer-wielder’s shoulder, and the warrior shrugs it off entirely, stepping closer to Mury after his charge failed to finish the fight.
Now holding a hooked knife in his left hand, Mury throws a fistful of sand he gathered into the hammer-wielder’s face. Again, the hammer-wielder shrugs it off, likely ready for something of the sort, but the human mind is limited in how many things it can process. Especially when that human mind has drilled in training with like-minded warriors in training.
A metal ping taps the hammer-wielder’s back, and he braces just long enough to disrupt his flow towards Murtoa.
Whether the hammer-wielder ever realizes what happened, it doesn’t matter. Murtoa springs forward during the split-second hitch, slashing with the hooked blade at the hammer-wielder’s gut.
Mury wasn’t just throwing sand at the hammer-wielder, he was yanking the cable with his foot, both keeping the other end out of reach of its original wielder, and impacting the back of the hammer-wielder as the latter was focused solely on Mury and his extremely obvious-seeming sneak attack.
It’s now clear the lives of the Holy Order are not sacred to Mury, given that they were so ready to kill him and his friends to cover up what’s going on. The hammer-wielder sinks to his knees as he clutches his abdomen. He grunts several times, but his diaphragm is severed, and he’s struggling to take in breaths.
Murtoa stands up, collecting the kusarigama more fully. He loops the cable a few times to keep it easier to hold, and he unbinds his bleeding arm.
Maerin says into his ear, “Uh… I… I’m gonna go help Coco…”
The knight nods, “Good idea. Thank you for your help.”
She smiles and nods, flying away from him carefully, avoiding everything else still going on around them.
Murtoa of Lakia, now wielding a far more exotic weapon than a handle and some sort of blade, begins swinging the knife end around to begin looping it in circles.
Though some of the fighters have recovered, it’s clear to them all that they may have underestimated their opponent.
***