The Fang
"Truly....most excellent..." The blows rained down on him, yet they were not rain. The fists that pummeled his body, the kicks that plunged at his form, it was an avalanche, a spear, a hurricane. On that moment, that girl was everything, yet her form was void. She had no stance, no openings, no blind spot, yet she had an infinity of each. A living paradox, flickering like a flame without a wind to guide it, its spark uncertain like the threads of fate. None of these blows could be predicted, it was quite literally impossible to follow that pattern.
Fate? How amusing.
Blood spurted everywhere, whatever this was, it was a massacre. Each blow landed, every hit connected. It didn't even look like a fair fight. It was downright horrifying.
She could see the fists pummeling him, the blows shattering his body. Everyone could feel the impact, the cracking of bones. There was no mistake that he'd be pulped to dust at any rate, being pushed into a defensive stance without being even able to throw a punch. However-
Each blow was effortlessly redirected, as if these colossal strikes were water, he was the river guiding them elsewhere, and the strain was quite literally ripping her body apart. Aside his hollow face, there was absolutely no wound on his body, while every blow threatened to rip her limbs off. The force of her advance was being returned to her body, without so much as reaching that man.
