"Still standing?" Raven's voice cut through the morning air, equal parts disbelief and grudging recognition. His lungs burned with each ragged breath, the devastating kick having taken its toll.
"More than you can handle," Morro shot back, his words sharp despite the fire raging in his ribs. Every movement sent waves of pain through his torso, but hard-earned instincts and disciplined training kept him upright, ready for whatever came next.
Raven's eyes narrowed, his mind racing. He saw an opening—an opponent wounded, vulnerable. With a predatory grin, he exploded forward, his blade a silver blur in the sunlight. This time, he would overwhelm Morro with pure, unrelenting aggression, leaving no space for counterattacks, no room for escape.
But Morro's combat senses screamed a warning. He twisted his body, bringing his kyokami around in a reverse grip that defied conventional swordsmanship. The unorthodox position allowed him to redirect Raven's momentum rather than meet it head-on, using the desert warrior's own force against him. Steel scraped against steel as Morro snapped his blade through a figure-eight pattern, the elegant movements forcing Raven to break off his assault.
For a heartbeat, Raven found himself exposed. Instinct took over as he launched a vicious low kick, his leg sweeping through the air like a scythe, aimed at Morro's supporting leg. It was a move born of countless back-alley brawls in the lawless territories of Vage Desert.
Morro anticipated the dirty tactic. With fluid grace, he snapped his kyokami back to a conventional grip while his body flowed around the kick. In the same seamless motion, he drove his own leg forward in a brutal counter-kick aimed squarely at Raven's knee joint. The strike would have ended the fight, shattering bone and tendon, but Raven's reflexes saved him as he jerked his leg back just in time.
Frustration etched itself across Raven's features. This village swordsman was reading him, anticipating every move. The easy victory he'd expected was evaporating.
Morro settled into a defensive crouch, blade held low. Walk away, his posture seemed to say. This will cost you dearly.
But Raven's pride wouldn't allow it. With a roar echoing off the buildings, he charged again—faster, more determined. He'd learned from mistakes, adapting to prevent Morro from controlling the rhythm.
Steel met steel in violent rhythm. A horizontal slash skimmed past Morro's face; follow-up from the other side forced Morro into a hard leap backward. As Morro landed, Raven thrust straight ahead. Morro caught it on the angle and shoved wide, countercut aimed at Raven's exposed ribs. Raven twisted away—edge kissed skin, drew blood.
First blood, Raven thought, satisfaction warring with frustration.
He came back with a spinning slash that would have taken Morro's head. Morro blocked cleanly, boots grinding as impact shoved them apart. The clang rolled through the square like thunder; even the bravest villagers flinched.
Raven didn't slow. Feints bled into new chains—thrust to chest, slash to legs, sweeping cut to take footing. Morro dropped low, kept moving, parrying, slipping, lifting guard at the last moment. Raven's weapon skittered past Morro's shoulder; Morro's posture reset as if untouched.
That steadiness finally cracked Raven's composure. Clean swordplay broke into street-fight violence—short, vicious slashes and stabbing thrusts meant to overwhelm. Morro weathered it with hard-earned calm, punishing every overreach.
Why won't he break? Raven's frustration mounted. Every sheriff I've faced—every single one—cracks by now.
Both warriors separated, chests heaving, blades ready. The fight had reached an impasse—neither could gain decisive advantage. The sun climbed higher, painting the dusty square in shifting patterns of light and shadow.
Raven pressed forward again, methodical now, predatory. He whipped his sword through intricate patterns, testing Morro's defenses, looking for weakness. Morro found himself forced to evade rather than counter, Raven's speed and variety leaving little room to maneuver.
A diagonal slash at Morro's shoulder forced him to contort, blade passing close enough to slice through his shirt and kiss skin. Before Morro could recover, Raven followed with horizontal cut at waist level, forcing desperate backward leap to avoid being disemboweled.
Raven pressed his advantage—vertical slash that would have split Morro's skull had he not dropped to one knee. The blade whistled overhead, missing by inches as Morro rolled aside.
Enough of this, Morro thought, frustration mounting. Time to end it.
Before Raven could complete another attack, Morro unleashed King's Negacion once more. This time, the blue sword beam erupted larger than before—a massive column of pure energy that dwarfed both warriors and bathed the square in ethereal blue glow.
The beam shot forward with impossible velocity. Raven, having seen this before, simply sidestepped with supernatural speed, the massive energy blade passing harmlessly beside him.
Morro charged forward now, abandoning caution. He moved with reckless speed, putting himself in precarious positions to close distance. Within seconds, he was within arm's length—forcing Raven into close-quarters combat where elegant techniques gave way to raw violence.
The two warriors began to wrestle, swords becoming extensions of their bodies as they struggled for dominance. Morro drove his shoulder into Raven's chest, forcing him backward while attempting to disarm with vicious wrist twist.
Raven responded with an elbow strike to Morro's jaw, the impact sharp and brutal. Morro's head snapped back, but his grip on his kyokami remained firm as he countered with a knee to Raven's stomach that doubled the desert warrior over.
Without hesitation, Morro brought his pommel down on Raven's exposed neck, but Raven rolled away at the last second, the weapon striking the dirt where his head had been moments before. Raven countered with a sweeping leg kick that caught Morro behind the knee, sending him stumbling forward.
The close-quarters battle erupted into pure chaos as both warriors abandoned the art of swordsmanship for the science of survival. They used their blades like clubs, their fists like hammers, their legs like scythes, each determined to end the fight through any means necessary.
Raven rushed forward with another series of attacks, his movements fueled by desperation and rage. A vicious overhead slash that Morro barely managed to deflect, followed immediately by a thrust to the stomach that forced him to twist away with inches to spare.
But Morro had reached his limit. With a reckless roar, he launched himself forward, abandoning all technique for raw aggression. His fist shot out, connecting squarely with Raven's jaw. The impact was devastating—Raven's head snapped back and he crashed violently into the wooden wall behind him, the structure groaning under the force.
Before Raven could recover, Morro drove his leg forward in a brutal liver kick. The strike lifted Raven from his feet, and blood sprayed from his mouth as he collapsed to one knee, gasping for breath.
Seeing his chance, Morro raised his kyokami for the killing blow, the blade poised to slice Raven's throat. But even in his weakened state, Raven's combat instincts remained sharp. With a desperate kick, he swept Morro's ankle out from under him.
Morro lost his balance and fell forward, but even as he tumbled, he refused to give up. In a desperate move, he thrust his kyokami downward, aiming to impale Raven through the chest as he fell. But Raven rolled aside at the last second, the falling blade burying itself in the dirt where he had been moments before.
Raven countered with a vicious leg kick to Morro's side, sending him sprawling. Morro's kyokami was torn from his grasp by the impact, sliding across the dusty ground just out of reach. He had nearly lost his weapon, and with it, any chance of victory.
Raven scrambled to his feet quickly, ignoring his injuries as he charged forward again. Morro, seeing the attack coming, managed to grab his kyokami just in time, blocking Raven's desperate and fast attack from below. Morro responded with a powerful thigh side kick that connected with devastating force. Raven lost his balance completely.
Damn that fucking bastard, Raven thought internally, his mind racing with rage and pain.
Morro drove his fist forward again, striking Raven with even more force, creating additional wounds on the already battered warrior. Morro followed up with an extremely powerful, fast attack aimed at Raven's neck, swinging his kyokami in a deadly arc.
But Raven dodged by a hair's breadth, countering with his own swing that delivered a shallow slice to Morro's stomach. Blood began to flow freely from the wound.
Morro launched a head kick that sent Raven completely off balance. The desert warrior began to crawl, turning around in a desperate attempt to defend his life. But Morro pressed his advantage, attacking with relentless slashes every time Raven tried to rise to his knees. Each time Raven attempted to get up, Morro would strike him down again, pinning him to the ground.
Everything pointed to Raven losing this fight.