Post by Smiley on Jan 12, 2021 17:22:08 GMT -5
Saved the woman, but not at a complete sacrifice to himself. Some conclusions and observations were to be taken from that, if he had the time to actually ponder about them. Instead, there was only actions to be taken, attacks to be thrown and pain to be inflicted. Even with the chain broken, the woman, still imprisoned by a detached claw that now wouldn't open, it ironically cushioned the blow by taking the brunt of it for her.
"...In time, you'll understand my methods." The White Tyrant promised, taking the perfect chance, of an enraged, yet open Alanyo, who had just suffered a nice battering thanks to those heavy bone chains, who wouldn't be able to just roll away from what he had in store for him. That free right hand of his held the mace high and tight.
"Great March." Once again, he uttered an attack, one that Alanyo had yet to meet. It started out as a simple, although cruelly powerful attack, one capable of cleaving through stone, of dusting bones, smashing flesh into jelly. As the swing was reaching its "end", it instead raised its trajectory slightly and curved back into another swing, aided by Marshall's positioning. This process repeated itself time and time again, brutal swing after brutal swing. Blocked, parried or outright hit, Marshall was keeping up a crushing pressure, only intending on stopping when he could no longer see even a sign of struggle from the fishman.
Around him, the landscape was suffering. As he walked forward, constantly swinging as to force Alanyo back, refusing to give him enough time or space to even step aside, that mace of his crushed walls, market stalls, carriages, anything it crossed, anything it met. Now, he fought for real and to kill. The entire time, one could feel a sense of joy emanating from those burning red eyes of his, hidden away in the black pits of his helmet's eye sockets.
"...In time, you'll understand my methods." The White Tyrant promised, taking the perfect chance, of an enraged, yet open Alanyo, who had just suffered a nice battering thanks to those heavy bone chains, who wouldn't be able to just roll away from what he had in store for him. That free right hand of his held the mace high and tight.
"Great March." Once again, he uttered an attack, one that Alanyo had yet to meet. It started out as a simple, although cruelly powerful attack, one capable of cleaving through stone, of dusting bones, smashing flesh into jelly. As the swing was reaching its "end", it instead raised its trajectory slightly and curved back into another swing, aided by Marshall's positioning. This process repeated itself time and time again, brutal swing after brutal swing. Blocked, parried or outright hit, Marshall was keeping up a crushing pressure, only intending on stopping when he could no longer see even a sign of struggle from the fishman.
Around him, the landscape was suffering. As he walked forward, constantly swinging as to force Alanyo back, refusing to give him enough time or space to even step aside, that mace of his crushed walls, market stalls, carriages, anything it crossed, anything it met. Now, he fought for real and to kill. The entire time, one could feel a sense of joy emanating from those burning red eyes of his, hidden away in the black pits of his helmet's eye sockets.