The copy, for the first time had his brows knit together, he realized he was the prime target for the enraged colossal Ludwig. And that enraged beast was not going to let go of prey once it caught it.
The air around them had already turned heavy with heat and dust, and the rooftop beneath their boots trembled every time the giant shifted its weight. Even from this distance, Ludwig could hear it, the grind of crystal against stone, the wet pull of muscle being forced into shapes it was never meant to hold.
Especially after the copy struck away the incoming blow. The giant's claws were cut and his palm was wounded. It wasn't a deep injury by any sane standard, Wrath didn't care about "deep", but it was an insult made physical. Red blood sprayed in a harsh arc and steamed where it hit the ruined street below, and for a fraction of a second the giant froze as if it had to re-learn the concept of being resisted.
