Detonated

The aesh charged toward Fate, his steps shaking the ground beneath him. But Fate noticed that the ground failed to crack beneath the demon's steps, a far cry from the unbridled power each foot had imparted upon the ground before.

Fate swore inwardly upon seeing this, rolling out of the way at the last second, which was easier said than done.

The aesh was faster than an Olympic sprinter, easily reaching a speed upward of sixty miles an hour, and needed only a step to reach full speed.

The imps and humans dove out of the demon's way, those not fast enough sent flying or, for those at Tier I or Journeyman, being smashed into bloody messes, a grim reminder of what awaited Fate if he was caught.

Fate hopped to his feet, ignoring the pain from the gash on his thigh, as the aesh planted his feet firmly to stop himself, his feet smashing through the ground up to his ankles.

Fate could only lament his bad luck that the aesh had done that out of range of his Imprints as the demon tore his legs out of the concrete.

"Remember what I said, pup?" the aesh asked, trudging toward Fate and rolling his shoulders. "I can tear you apart with my bare hands. Should've run when you had the chance."

"You'll have to catch me first, you overgrown strawberry!" Fate taunted, backstepping toward the area above his Imprints.

The aesh glanced at Fate's feet with his yellow eyes, shaking his head with a hearty laugh. "I thought humans were supposed to be smart! But here you are, choreographing your moves like a script for a play."

"You seem so certain that a measly 'Tier I pup' like myself can do anything to hurt you," Fate smirked. "Maybe the all-powerful aesh aren't so strong after all."

"There's a thin line between bravery and stupidity, human," retorted the aesh, unamused. "The first thing I was taught was never to underestimate my opponent. Something your trainers failed to teach you."

Trainers? The only one that had taught Fate anything about combat was himself. He had no clue how he could use a sword the way he did, but he did know that no one had taught him.

But what Fate was unaware of was that it wasn't just his swordsmanship that made the aesh believe Fate had been trained.

That last-second dodge out of the way of his charge couldn't be chalked up to just instinct, especially with how fast the aesh had been running and how short the distance between the two was before.

That, along with the seamless way Fate then rolled to his feet, wasn't something instinct could do. The aesh should know; that was how he got the scar on his shoulder.

At most, instinct would help one dive out of the way, falling prone on their stomach.

It wouldn't turn into what Fate had done without proper training, as combat training, at a very basic level, was meant to change how one instinctively reacted to stimuli in battle. Overriding one's flight response, changing a flinch into a block, both were examples of this.

But the aesh wasn't worried. So what if this whelp had training? The aesh had been training for years, and he royally outclassed this puny human.

It would be inconvenient to control the strength he put into each step when he was above the brat's trap, but that was it.

With a grunt, he planted his feet again and rocketed forward, appearing before fate in two blinks of an eye.

Fate dodged to the side, but the aesh wrapped his arm around Fate's torso and suddenly he was moving backward at a blistering speed.

Fate's breath was knocked out of his lungs from the impact, and the red haze ate away at his Mage Reach. His bleeding thigh was no longer held back, gushing blood that streaked behind the two like the tail of a comet.

The aesh came to a stop with a step as gentle as a leaf, hoisting Fate up by his sword arm and eyeing the weapon in the human's hand.

Fate punched and kicked to escape, striking so hard that he felt his toes bruise and the skin of his knuckles tear, but the demon hardly noticed, especially since Fate's reach with his free hand was only enough to bang on the aesh's bracer.

"This sword…" mumbled the demon. "I know this sword. It belonged to a half-imp aesh named Gorn. My cousin's cousin sired him. That Gorn bastard always rubbed this Sprout Grade lump of metal in my face whenever I saw him.

"Some half-breed had an enchanted weapon while I'm stuck with a glorified iron bar? I was pissed. I was going to challenge him for it, but the coward ran off before I could.

"But it seems Lady Luck is smiling on me today!" grinned the aesh. He stuck his face in Fate's, yellow eyes looking into Fate's. "This sword's red blade will be complemented nicely by your blood, human."

A TWANG rang out over the sound of the beating drums, brown blurs whizzing by the aesh's head and missing his cheek by a fraction of an inch.

The aesh laughed uproariously, squeezing Fate's sword arm to a pulp before tossing the Journeyman aside and throwing his arms wide.

"YOU MISSED, HUMAN!" cackled the aesh, who had to yell to be heard over the din of the battle around him. "YOUR ENTIRE SPECIES IS AS INEPT AS A – !"

Click!

The aesh blinked, turning around.

There, in the concrete right above the center of Fate's Imprint, was an arrow, embedded halfway into the stone so only its fletching and part of its shaft were visible.

The aesh's joyous grin turned sardonic as the arrow started to glow. Why had he turned toward the noise instead of fleeing as fast as possible?

In the aesh's arrogance and bloodlust, he had forgotten a crucial detail: Fate wasn't the only human here.

The arrow before the aesh now held a powerful Imprint of the Sapling Grade. Imprints were entirely internal, so demons couldn't steal the Mana that made them, only whatever expulsion they might create.

So the arrow flew unimpeded and unharmed through the red haze around his skin, not losing even a percent of its power.

Just as the aesh's smirk turned mocking, the arrow detonated.