As Nero descended, landing twenty paces away, the Chieftain let out a roar that shook loose stones from the cliff face. It didn't speak. It didn't need to. Its fury was a physical force.
It charged, not with wild abandon, but with the terrifying, ground-eating stride of a seasoned veteran. Its cleaver came around in a blow meant to cut Nero in half.
Nero met it. CLANG! The impact was staggering, a concussive ring of metal that echoed off the mountains. Fire met brute force. Nero's boots skidded back on the stone, his arms vibrating from the power behind the blow. This one was stronger. Much stronger.
The Chieftain pressed its advantage, its cleaver a whirlwind of brutal, efficient strikes. It used its shield not just for defense, but as a battering ram, slamming it forward to break Nero's stance. Nero was forced onto the defensive, parrying and dodging, the relentless assault giving him no opening to counter. He was being driven back toward the cliff's edge.
