A confident first blow resulted in a close call with the beast’s wings. She knew about this fiend in theory but had never fought one, nor its slightly smaller counterpart. The Fell Knight eventually found herself dodging more than attacking. She could keep up, but with the less than ideal damage they were dealing, it wouldn’t be worth it. They needed to change tactics.
He had some fleeting admiration for her battle form—Scarlet knew what she was doing—but it wasn’t the same as fighting with someone he was familiar with. Ric couldn’t read her movements the same way he could with his Blades; some strategy would be needed for this tough brute.
“Pincer formation,” he said suddenly, backpedalling as the claws scraped across his armour, the monster stamping closer. Fucking close one. “Can we do it?”
As Rictor stepped back, Scarlet engaged, successfully landing a blow to one of the wings. She hopped back as the Dreadguard redirected this hostility toward her. Scarlet allowed herself a moment to catch her breath and reevaluate. “Worth a shot.”
“Good,” Ric said, and that was all he had time for—the Dreadguard swung its attention back to the blonde, who harried it from one corner, and the holy knight took the other side. Together, they managed to land several cutting strikes against the beast, working their swords between its mirrored scales. They started to find their rhythm (as they’d done three years ago, in another context), eventually working as a well-synchronised machine.
It was a good attempt.
Too bad it was worthless.
The attacks only seemed to enrage it for now, and with unbelievable durability and strength, it batted Scarlet aside and then directed its baleful gaze to the Blade.
A desperate thought crossed Rictor’s mind: We’re too few. With his entire squad, he would know what to do and how to assign each of his fighters—Quilloran, Lorz, Baudry, Auvray, Kurere—to maximum efficiency. With this battle, however, they were only two, and each hit was returned threefold and he found his gloves slippery with blood, his body slammed down into the ground again and again, his armour starting to grind and shift and crush beneath the monstrous knight’s claws like a cat toying with its prey.
For the first time in a very long time, fear ran through the Silver Blade, hot and livid.
This time, it took a moment longer for Scarlet to get back on her feet. And as she rose, her sword felt heavier, the monster seemed larger, and whatever adrenaline that was keeping the pain at bay appeared to be wearing off. She realized then that no one was going to come to their aid, but that they couldn’t allow this beast to advance any further.
Gritting her teeth, she advanced toward the Dreadguard, no time to try anything different, just barely enough to distract it away from Rictor. Enfire was used with her attacks, but Scarlet was quickly approaching her limit. Her Deathbringer was thrust into where the beast’s wing met its shoulder and ... stuck there.
If she wasn’t so damn injured, she may have risked using a Dark ability, but Scarlet noted the way the beast’s feet were pressed against the ground, its eyes drifting back to Rictor who was closer in proximity, ready to lunge toward him. There was little time to think as she charged forward, giving her the split second advantage she needed, though not with a powerful attack in mind. Her hand was outstretched for the handle of her Black Sword, pushing past the pain in the ribs and the burning in her lungs. The pain that she used to calm her mind, to prepare for the Dark to come.
He’d practiced enough with a certain former berserker to recognise the particular clammy nausea in the air which came from that attack.
No, Rictor thought, all his focus suddenly derailed and caught on what was happening before him. “No,” he said out loud, voice gaining volume and strength. The fear was suddenly gone, and in its place was something else—anger, disgust, aversion. What had he gotten himself into? What was he fighting alongside?