Difference in Skill
The sound was so loud, it was heard over all of the clanging swords and angry yells of the other fighters, causing the entire stadium to grow hushed for the second time as they turned their attention to Fate.
The Lightning woman's pretty face now resembled a smashed fruit, the dirt below soaking up the blood like a thirsty man given water in the desert.
Fate rose from the corpse, ditching his club in favor of her sword and shield. Even the empress above raised an eyebrow at the astounding feat he pulled off. She had never heard of an Avatar managing to last so long against not one, but two Personifications on their own.
It was as if Fate couldn't feel the thousands of gazes on his back, many lingering on that x-shaped scar as they wondered about his origins, as he took light steps toward the now-standing Metal Embodiment.
She lost her previous expression of murder-happy excitement as her eyes went from the corpse to the killer. A vein throbbed on her forehead as her greatsword flew back into her hands, and she shouted something in that language from earlier.
Fate couldn't understand her, nor did he care what she had to say. As the battles resumed in the center of the arena, the man and woman broke into a sprint toward the other at the same time, one deathly quiet and the other releasing a bloodthirsty yell.
Now that he was armed, he decided to show her the difference in their skill.
Using nothing but the shield and sword he pilfered from the Lighting woman, he fought her as a mortal would. The Metal woman couldn't use her Manifest Power, and his own was now capable of eating away at any Divine Reach attempt she could muster, so why not fight fair?
It became very clear, very fast that even though Fate had never used a shield before, his sword work was immaculate. And as he suffered stabs and slices after misusing his shield, he slowly grew more adept at the wooden object's use as well.
What was the difference between using a sword with one hand as opposed to two? Wasn't that difference a greater range of movement for the former?
And what did Fate learn from Master Geifong, if not for how to use his movements and those of his enemy to his advantage?
While he couldn't directly translate all of his teachings to a one-handed sword, the basics were close enough, and the fundamentals of momentum and flowing attacks were almost perfect for the sword of the agile woman he had pilfered this from.
The shield slowed him down, but he swiftly turned the tides. From suffering twenty wounds for every one he blow he managed to land on the Metal woman, some not even managing to pierce her metallic skin, he now landed five for every hit he suffered.
Slowly but surely, he whittled down the woman's defenses, scratches on her face and hands turning to cuts and then deep wounds gushing with blood.
His attacks alternated from wide and sweeping to short and narrow, utilizing every opening the woman created to stack wound after wound onto her. Whatever he did, he made sure to keep close, eliminating her greatsword's superior range from the equation.
He used the few dents in her armor he had created with his club to disorient her, smacking her ribs with his shield to drive the breath from her lungs and take the power out of her swings while at the same time leaving a fresh mark on her face or hands.
The woman's retaliations were clumsy and cumbersome, her weary bones and lack of Manifest Power requiring an entirely new combat style that she had little experience with.
As with almost every Embodiment, her entire fighting style revolved around her Manifest Power, so she had put less emphasis on swordsmanship than on synergy between sword and powers. But the past was the past, and she could do naught but regret by now.
Within five minutes, she fell to her knees, sword clattering to the ground. She lowered her head, eyes closing as she accepted her defeat. Her face was now a mishmash of blood and sword wounds, her neck bleeding from several places.
"You have bested me," she muttered, words clumsy on her tongue. It was obvious she didn't practice this language that often, and it was only made worse by the blood pouring out of her mouth. "My honor is lost. End me, so I might reclaim a modicum of my dignity and join my sister."
Fate happily obliged, sword landing on one of the many gashes on her neck in a swift chop that severed her head.
Head and body fell to the ground, tears and blood mingling on the ground before the emotionless ground swallowed them up.
Fate cast aside his sword and shield, picking up the fallen warrior's greatsword and giving it a couple of swings. It was heftier than he'd like, but the hilt was long enough for him to use it with close to the full range of motion the Miao Dao afforded him.
As he trudged toward the center of the arena and the desperate struggle therein, his gaze darted from one woman to the next as he thought of who to go after.
By now, most of the men's foes had been dispatched.
The group of six surrounded the last four Verfendans, attacking and receding like waves lapping against the shore as the women slowly exhausted themselves trying to defend against the attacks coming from so many directions.
Fate slipped through the hulking men and harried one of the women, who had light metal armor consisting of a cuirass, greaves, and gauntlets, and a single longsword coated with pressurized water.
Every now and then she'd pull at the water in one of her opponents, slowing or stopping the attack levied against her altogether.
Since she was the lowest of the group of survivors in terms of comprehension, sitting at around 37%, Fate found her easy pickings.
The woman fell beneath his blade without even knowing what hit her, her last expression one of shock as his sword sliced her in half at her waist.
He dodged a swing from a woman made of fire and deflected a chunk of stone from another woman as he stepped toward the third, who was currently unleashing blasts of wind at an advancing man.