More power, more power. It rushed out of him in torrents. I don’t care about that, I’ve struggled enough to not care about superficial things like that. His back was arched like a hissing cat. A coating of ice enveloped his body, it shimmered in the moonlight. His eyelids were slit and focused solely on his target.

The man twirled his blade.

“For someone of such low rank your proficiency is quite unusual. There’s something off about you though, your abilities, they aren’t quite like the icetypes i’ve seen before, are they!”

An animalistic cry burst forth from Maxwell’s maw. Ice forming around his feet congealed and contracted. for a split moment Its solidness seemed no more than a mere suggestion. Intense pressure built up in the substance and he rocketed forward. He closed the gap in fractions of a second. His hands were extended in front of him not as fingers but as icy talons. The man sidestepped the attack avoiding it by a hair.

“Your attacks are far too basic, really a straight on attack, you’re practically telling me what you’re going to do. Your abilities are the only unique thing about you, but even then…” He tapped a finger against his chin in thought. “ I’ll be surprised if you make it for more than a minute before your body freezes solid.”

Maxwell twisted his body in the air landing hard on all fours. His eyes ever focused on his target. I can see them. I can see his movements. At first he had been unable to read the movements of the man but this time was different. His effortless graceful movements that left him stumped before were now visible. He was no longer an intangible cloud that floated between his fingers but something that was solid, something that he could grasp, tear at and devour.

He attacked once more this time he was parried. His arms ached from the repeated blows but he didn’t let up. The man had switched from dodging every blow to now parrying. His claws still hadn’t reached him but it was only a matter of time now. The force of their next strike sent both of their limbs rearing back. This is my chance, he’s wide open.

Maxwell had two limbs to attack with while the man only had one. He took his free arm back slightly before accelerating forward. He leapt forward into the air. The man’s scimitar was far out of reach, at least twice as far away as Maxwell’s hand was.

I need to put everything I have into this attack.

His claws lurched forward. It dinged against the metal. The blue-tinted transparent tips cracked against it before it ate all the way to his fingernail. Damn it, I knew these claws wouldn’t hold up, they’re too brittle. The recoil sent their limbs flying back from the impact.

In that same instant the man bent at the elbow twisting the blade. It danced a wide arc. The simultaneous rotation in his fingers, wrists, elbow and shoulder and even beyond down to his spine, hips, knees and ankles made the blade shimmer and writhe. The blade dug deep into Maxwell’s side thumping against it. Ice chips flew and tumbled. The blade rattled and shook.

Maxwell was sent sideways onto the ice. His feet grabbed the ground and he scraped to a standstill. He pulled up his shirt to reveal a thin line of red. The blade had barely nicked his skin. A thick layer of ice covered his ribs. The blade has just barely made it through. The ice was already forming again knitting itself around the wound.

The man glanced at his blade. He swung the wiggling mass of ice off it and onto the ground. It squirmed and expanded but for a moment. In the very same instant that he had attacked ice had crept up the blade. If he had held on any longer his sword arm might have been destroyed.

Maxwell grinned. “How’s that for defenses, not even your strongest attack is enough to hurt me now!” it. Maxwell tried not to show any expression on his face. I’m still not able to hit him, he seethed. He wouldn’t let the man read his emotions, if he knew how frustrated he was it might give him an advantage.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

The man replied calmly. “I’ve fought a lot of people in my life, you are far from the strongest.”

A harsh breeze ran down the alleyway. The cloak hugging him wafted unnaturally in the wind. It was moving against it. It then…unfurled. What he thought was a cloak croaked. It unwrapped from him extending into wings. But they weren’t the man's wings. It was on his neck. It had a grey simian-like body and a petite head with large orange-yellow eyes. What Maxwell at first had thought was the cloak was actually the creature’s wings. They were incredibly disproportionate to its body. When fully outstretched its wingspan must have been as long as a bus. It squeaked and croaked into the man’s ear.

Maxwell stopped at a distance, observing. His breathing was hoarse. The pieces were slowly but surely falling into place. That-thing definitely doesn’t exist in a petting zoo. Is that what’s allowing him to survive the cold? Thinking back, he wasn’t sure what magic the man had used during the fight. Was this his ability? Was he even taking this fight seriously? He pushed the thought away. Even thinking about it was too dangerous. But what if the consequences of ignoring it were even greater.

It wrapped its wings down his arm joining at the hilt of his sword. The blade emitted a faith glow humming and buzzing before erupting into flames. Maxwell was running out of time. He could feel the blood in his veins slowing down. If the man’s words were true he really would freeze solid. The man leapt forward, the blade illuminated his tight-lipped face. He cleaved at Maxwell. It was as if it had become daytime.

The attack nearly took his head off. The flames licked his face singing his nostrils. He flinched even after he had averted it. It was no ordinary flame. It had melted right through his defenses. Those same defences had withstood lethal strikes by deadly blades, blunt force trauma that would have crushed his limbs and blocked against countless other attacks.

He took a deep breath clasping his hands against the ground. His fingers digging into the layer of ice. Crackling went through his body. He heaved up a large piece of ice building off it until it was larger than he was. He catapulted it at the man. The sheer size of it obscured the man in its shadow. The creature wrapped around him squaked in surprise. The blade sliced the boulder like a hot knife through butter. Ice and water fell to the ground. WHile cutting through the blade has partially liquified the ice.

Maxwell watched on heaving. That had taken a lot of his stamina and upon the recent sight it had all been in vain. Especially considering how close he was to collapsing all together. His muscles were beginning to palpitate and crystals were forming on the edge of his vision. He had lost feeling in all of his limbs. I need a change of plans, I can’t win if I continue fighting the same way as I currently am. His brain hummed, ideas bubbled forth. He ran not forward at the target but backwards in a beeline for the cart. It was still intact. Its long chassis was made from wood that had been sawed and nailed together. The body bags of the dead were scattered most disrespectfully. A single larger one near the middle was unscathed for the most part.

Maxwell eyed the sturdy sides of the cart. The planks of wood were long and thick. They were slightly more flexible as it fared better from constant movement. Instead of breaking it would simply bend then snap back into place. He heaved and the wood screamed and groaned. He pried off one of the planks. It was slightly chipped but in one piece twice as long as he was. Using sheer strength would have been impossible even for him in this state. He probably couldn’t have done it at full strength either. He had Forced ice between the seams of the boards. The nifty thing about ice is that it was made of water. Water expands when it freezes. Using those principles the wood popped loose from its restraints. He grasped it tightly. Its surface tinted blue as ice converged through it.

He twirled the weapon before swinging on end high up and using gravity to aid in its acceleration downward at the head of the man. The man simply raised his sword arm, his blade parallel with the ground. His arm muscles bulged. The creature squeaked slightly. A boom echoed through the streets. The plank ricocheted off the blade backwards. Maxwell didn’t let up, releasing a volley of strikes making sure to keep at a distance. That was the main advantage of such an unruly awkward weapon. He had the reach advantage. Reach advantage is one of the most important things in a fight. He learnt this from Colin on one of their many afternoons. He’d always had an interest in sports including combat sports. Reach is so important because fighting is all about hitting your opponent without getting hit. One can argue fighting hasn’t changed at all throughout the history of mankind. First man fought with fists then with clubs, then with ranged weapons. With ranged weapons one was able to hit opponents from a distance without being hit. Even in modern times using larger and faster missiles that can traverse continents and cause untold damage relied on those very same principles. With those thoughts in mind Maxwell was confident. I can win this!