Chương 43: Bloodshot

Morne's perceived advantage had proven to be a figment of his imagination, and now the strongest thing about him, his body, was useless as well.

Welen had gone for Morne's weak points every time he attacked. First for his throat, then his lungs. With tactics like that, even with a strength gap, it wouldn't matter that much.

And with that Spell up…

Morne's focus became razor sharp, keying in on Welen and looking for whatever he could find that might tilt the odds in his favor.

But this was a fight to the death. Welen wasn't going to just sit there and let Morne find a weakness.

The scrawny man charged forward, crossing the short distance and throwing a punch at Morne's jugular.

Just like he had the first time, Morne blocked the attack with his buckler, only this time he expected what was coming next.

He snatched the wrist of Welen's other hand just as it gripped onto the lip of the buckler, and when his foe tried to jump, Morne jerked his buckler arm downward, robbing Welen of the push-off point and forcing his weight to the front.

Welen fell forward, smacking into Morne's chest only for Morne to catch him by the shoulder.

Morne raised his mace to deliver a lethal blow, clenching Welen's shoulder tight so he wouldn't escape, but just as his weapon started its descent…

With a swiftness borne of years of practice and a glint in his eye, Welen's hand shot up, fingers straight, and jabbed at his original target.

Morne hurriedly redirected his mace, placing it between his throat and the attack. He couldn't afford to be winded again.

But as if this was his plan all along, Welen's fingers splayed open and wrapped around the pole above Morne's hand.

His second hand shot up, punching his first and sending the mace rocketing upwards.

Morne saw stars as his own mace smashed his jaw shut, but he didn't let go of his foe.

Spitting blood off to the side, he tightened his grip on Welen's shoulder, paying no heed to the crimson drops that dripped down his mace and landed on the other Mage.

With a growl, he attempted to tear his mace from the Power Mage's grip. However, in his haste, he forgot the poor quality of the weapon.

Welen's hand, positioned as it was between Morne's hand and the mace's head, slid down the shaft and into the head's flanges as Morne pulled the weapon away.

The blades caught on Welen's hand, slicing the flesh apart with small cuts, but the wobbly head could hold on no longer.

The pole of the weapon was freed from Welen's grip and was sent spinning through the air, but the head stayed behind, dropping to the ground with a dull thud.

Morne swore inwardly when he lost one of the few things that could've evened the odds against his opponent, but wasn't about to lose this opening he had created.

His now free hand joined the first, latching onto Welen's other shoulder in a vise grip.

"Wither away."

Welen's eyes flashed with alarm as he felt his life force get sucked out by the spiraling energies around Morne's hands.

"What are you doing, heretic?" he growled. "Never mind, it doesn't matter."

A punch rammed into Morne's stomach, driving the breath from his lungs for what felt like the third time this fight, but Morne had already said his incantation.

Other than a grunt of pain, Morne's focus didn't waver.

Welen's eyes narrowed. He had expected that to break Morne's hold as it did the last few times. No matter. He had more where that came from.

He followed up with another punch, then another, his fists a blur as they rained down in a staccato rhythm and made certain that Morne's lungs remained empty.

Realizing this wouldn't work, Welen changed tactics.

The next punch struck Morne's throat, the one after that struck his nose, and the third strike connected with Morne's eye.

Morne snarled in pain, his grip finally breaking and his Spell flickering out as he was sent reeling back.

Welen surged forward, pressing the attack.

A whirl of fists, elbows, and knees assaulted Morne, aiming for every weak point he had except his groin. Apparently, Welen fought with some measure of honor.

His nose, stomach, throat, and jaw were hammered one after another, leaving him in a perpetual state of breathlessness and sharp pain.

His nose was broken, his lungs emptied of what little he had managed to fill them with, and his skull rattled in his head, but Welen showed no signs of stopping. He wasn't deterred by his bloody hand in the slightest.

Morne threw a punch at Welen, only for it to be slapped away with little effort. He reached out with the intent to use Withering Touch again, only for his wrist to be caught, broken, and shoved away in one smooth movement.

Morne would've howled in pain if he had anything in his lungs. As it was, he could produce only a wheeze.

Finally, his face twitching with anger, Morne planted his feet and kicked forward with as much might as he could muster in his winded state.

Unable to dodge due to his close proximity, Welen ceased his attacks to catch the leg by the ankles and brought an elbow up to shatter it like he did Morne's wrist.

Morne's eyes flashed with a malevolent look. Welen had fallen right into his trap.

"Splinter shot," he wheezed, using the modicum of air he had managed to suck in during his kick.

Welen was too close to dodge.

The blob of dark energy hit him square in the face, breaking apart on his nose and splashing into his eyes before he could close them.

Welen roared out in pain, releasing Morne as his hands darted up to cover his eyes.

After a deep breath, Morne stepped forward, bringing a fist around and aiming straight for Welen's nose.

The sound of snapping cartilage rang out as Welen's nose folded in on itself, and Morne followed the attack up by wrapping his hands around the Power Mage's wrists, stopping Welen's stumbling retreat and revealing his tear-streaked face and bloodshot eyes.

"Wither away."

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Lolbroman25

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