Still holding up well planted into his spot, he decides to hold his ground as Fefnir charges. Quickly, he shifts the grip on his scythe, the blade held down low near the ground; staff pointed crookedly at the sky.
More tricks? Maybe I’m a little curious.
“You play with fire, don’t you? I can’t say impressed yet. Did you run outta magic tricks so soon?” he taunts as the other runs at him. He braces himself to block, but keeps the toothy grin in place.
His taunting only served to make me laugh. So, the tales are true, Prometheus… you fight not only with fire and scythe, but also with words. How mature of you.
The grin was slightly unnerving, but I tried to put it out of my mind as I threw two successive punches at him, one downwards and the second a spinning backfist aimed for his head. The charges gave my fists a burning aura, scorching the air.
The edge of his lip twitches at the laughter from the other man, but fine. Maybe the man didn’t like to chat mid-battle. Maybe he couldn’t talk at fight at the same time.
Multitasking must be hard. Maybe an older model.
He cackles low, but briefly as the first fist swings his way. He leans back out of the way of the first strike only to miss the second one coming for him. The fist smashes into his helm, stopping him for a moment only before he shifts the grip on his scythe and attempts to bash the staff of his scythe into Fefnir’s side.
