Pluto caught the blade swung out with his the moment the attackers' silhouettes flung out of the bushes. His instincts had failed to warn him, and reflexes too late to react. He had only survived the first strike because he had known it was coming.
The attacker reached out into his back pocket, drawing out a second blade that immediately headed for Pluto's armpit, unprotected by his high stretched arm. Pluto retracted his arm, brandishing the face of his blade to deflect the attack. Rusted steel– or rather the forest material that resembled it– slammed against rusted steel, echoing harshly into his ears.
Pluto staggered back, but the man didn't, and was already advancing for another strike. He couldn't let Pluto regain balance, or the initial advantage would be lost. And in life or death close quarters combat, that was more detrimental than losing a limb.
For a moment Pluto didn't notice that there had been three other attackers until the cacophony of clashes started. Saul moved with cadence that was both measured and erratic. His strikes were geometrically clean, with almost no shake or deviation to them.
His blade flashed for the throat of the one who had blocked his front view. The man blocked, trying to redirect weight in hopes of tipping Saul's balance. But he had already caught wind of it through the tightening of certain muscles around the man's tricep.
Saul pushed forward before the man's wrist could fully rotate, snapping his blade free of the clash and straight for his opponent's eye. Then a second one moved it, kicking Saul's along his ribs and palming against his elbow.
The hasty intervention was just enough to change the trajectory of Saul's blade, pivoting it to draw a few drops of blood of the side of the other one's cheek.
A few more clangs of steel thought Saul something. The moment the third attacker joined the fray, he was forced to retreat out of it. These weren't usual entrants that allowed fear to shape their every breath. They were skilled, and had only discipline clouding their judgement.
Each strike and block had a purpose that Saul sometimes failed to see before they did. A fleeting moment of distraction allowed blades to pass closer to his neck than his collar. The meaning to all that was soon revealed.
He would only be able to take on two of them without putting himself in constant danger. He wasn't inclined to protect anyone, so he felt more numb than concerned to the fact that Pluto, would had no remarkable combat experience, would be left facing the same number of entrants.
The ambushers noticed this too. One careful, one crude. If they took out the outlier, it would be easy for the four of them to swarm Saul.
Another thing that worried Saul was the fact that none of them had shown their abilities yet.
One disengaged from attacking Saul and turned to Pluto. The two didn't rush immediately into battle, instead they hung, postured in a way that made it seem as if they were about to attack, but weren't too.
They watched for fear, or a shiver that would break guard long enough to be fatal. For sweats that drained more of stamina than heat.
For hopelessness.
Then the eel came alive again, but not violently. With regality that could calm storms. With signals that dwarfed complex patterns in complexity.
Pull.
Push.
Slide.
Release.
Contract.
Pluto took notice. This was the telegraph. Not one that would help him to win, but to stay alive. To survive, he would have to become a puppet. Shameless, but still.
The moment he took his eyes off his arm and back unto the battlefield, one of them had already bridged the distance and was in front of him. His blade skimmed towards Pluto's ribs with surreal speed.
But it seemed like the eel had already tugged on him before he had even lifted his eyes to behold the attack. He twisted sharply as forcedly as he possibly could. He didn't dodge the attack, but it drew a lot less blood.
Before the turn had spun completely, the eel tugged again. This time gliding across his forearm for a bit before contracting. Pluto wasn't sure exactly what that was meant to convey, so he improvised once he swung.
The blade cut a few standing threads on the attacker's shoulder, but failed to do more than that. Worse than that, he had been left in an awkward angle after striking, leaving him open to the elbow jab from the other ambusher.
He staggered back and pushed himself against the body of the first one who had just regained footing from dodging Pluto's attack to gain some distance. He frowned as he stared them down again. His mind was just too dull to align with the sharp signals the eel was sending out.
When the eel tugged, he alone reacted after the sensation had travelled from his skin to his brain. And by then, it was too late to be reflex, instead, it was just slow intention.
The second attacker attacked immediately, kicking towards his knee, aiming to destabilise his stance. The eel pulled upwards, and Pluto followed with his leg.
Noticing that his leg had overshot the height, the eel pushed downwards again. But Pluto had been too late to implement the instruction. The kick caught the his toe, forcing him to stumble forward and almost fall.
That was the clunky movement that held him back from Saul's level of predatory brilliance.
The ambushers didn't need to just desperate. They didn't need to rush, they just needed mistakes. And those mistakes, Pluto would definitely make.
His eel painting may have reduced the sheer amount, but it could not curb it completely.
***
Across the battlefield, Saul's engagement was much more dire. In Pluto's case, his opponents had been quick lenient with him, hoping to thaw his mistakes out and not exacerbate their wounds. But Saul's attackers had been relentless. No one gave a damn about the fact that a second too slow was a death sentence.
Saul parried in the same attacking motion, opening up a thin bracket of time to attack. The second attacker displaced himself into Saul's flank, arcing for his chest.
Saul gave up his guaranteed hit on the first one and blocked, with the attack coming awfully close due to his slight hesitation.
The second one didn't let him off, he dropped down and attempted to sweep his legs. Saul hovered his front foot, allowing the attempt to fruitlessly pass by.
In the moment the attacker tried to repose into fighting stance, Saul stepped forward and gave him a thumping kick to the jaw, almost knocking the wind out of his lungs.
The first one stepped in before Saul could inflict proper damage unto his partner. But when one had to flow with the tempo of someone else's actions, they were left open to be capitalized upon.
Saul stepped forward again and kicked him in the chest. He caught the foot before Saul drew it back and raised his blade to impale it. Frowning, he shifted his weight and kicked again with the second leg. This time it connected and pushed his opponent back.
But just then, the second one dived at him head first, preventing him from following up on his combo. Pushing of the spearing dive, Saul frowned.
The opponents had eventually proved to be less than he was in terms of skill, but with their seamless coverup, he might have as well not even mentioned his proficiency in at aspect.
The battle deteriorated into blow for blow. That kind of battle was always up to endurance to decide, but in this one, it was up to time.
Because their were four of them, and only two of him.
***
Pluto's mind drifted briefly.
It had been roughly a month since he was thrown into this hellish nightmare. Or rather, it had felt like a month.
He wondered what was happening on the other side. In the regular world.
Had his parents noticed that he was gone? Or did they keep pretending like he didn't exist in their lives and not bother to even check on him?
Were they worried? Was anyone?
Was his face now among the many missing that now frequented the news?
Or logically– okay, illogically – time had not passed at all outside this place. Maybe the world was on pause now. And maybe if he escaped here, he would spawn back into his apartment and behold his cold coffee.
He hoped that was the case.
***
The strange sensation was now making itself noticeable again. He felt it clearer with each extra second Saul fought for. As if the world was being tightened around him.
Every the usually unperturbed mist now swirled with tension. Leaves shook off their resting spot and residue of dried puddles reached out momentarily.
The attackers noticed it too, and maybe more so. They glanced around with uneasy gazes the more it grew, afraid that reality might just assault them.
Eventually it faded, but once every few frowns Saul made, it would simmer in the background.
Then–
Pluto's blade broke, finally shattering under the pressure of repeated clashes. This was the second weapon he had broken in days. As the fragments bounced across the floor, Pluto leapt back, creating distance between them.
Fear and wariness bled out through his dripping perspiration. The attackers smiled, and Pluto was about to say something.
Then without warning, Saul moved and launched a dagger. The blade parted air like lightning, then streaked past the face of one of the attackers on Pluto, leaving a thin blood trail across his face.
Pluto stepped forward to grab it, but it slipped from his grasp the moment he tried to hold it. It slammed into his shoulder, sending indescribable pain shooting through his veins.
He groaned and staggered back, ripping it out in the same motion. Blood soaked his sleeve, sipping out mockingly.
But the blade was much better than anything he had seen before, than the forest should have been capable of building.
But that didn't matter.
What did was the fact that it was the only thing preventing him from a slit throat.
That, and the guidance of his trusty companion.