Headed by a Snake

Garock thrust out his left to block the fired crossbow bolt with the thick layers of muscle on his forearm.

"Tss," Tycondrius hissed in frustration, reloading another bolt. The Orcish Samurai had Gold-Rank perception, the reflexes to match, and reacted to the tiny projectile as much as a bear to a splinter.

It only seemed to anger him.

Tycon quick-fired a second bolt at the charging orc's center of mass.

Garock ducked his head and dodged to the side, but his size worked against him. The blessed bolt lodged deep into the orc's right shoulder.

Tycon took solace that if he was going to die here, he'd at least be certain his opponent would be greatly inconvenienced.

He held up his crossbow to block a sidewards slash from Garock's heavy sword. It was slower than he expected... perhaps the result of two steel bolts in the orc's musculature. Tycon threw his broken crossbow away to redirect his opponent's kinetic force, granting him the opportunity to counterattack.

Stepping to Garock's open right, Tycon drew his short sword. Though he wanted to be nowhere near the raging orc, creating distance would be largely disadvantageous to him due to the Samurai's reach and his lengthy, overcompensating weapon.

Tycon slashed his sword at the orc's side... and Garock precisely blocked the blade with the base of his own sword's hilt.

It was an unorthodox defensive tactic that required a high level of precision, reflexes, and skill. Also, it was very upsetting.

Tycon dipped his head to barely dodge an Orcish backhand, lunging forward to stab the orc in the chest.

Garock swung his blade up, parrying the thrust... the sheer force of the strike nearly finding Tycon disarmed.

The orc brought his weapon down with a diagonal slash, which Tycon swayed his body to avoid. He grabbed at the orc's large wrist with his pitifully small hand and tried to cut a line across the bastard's eyes.

Garock lowered his body to slip the strike, then swung his oppressive blade with a roaring surge of strength.

Tycon braced his sword against his chest, the heavy blow taking him off of his feet. Coursing through the air, he smashed painfully into a pile of shattered flowers, rolling along... Thankfully, the sharpened ice fragments did not pierce through his cloak and armor.

Still, Garock's blade had bled the right side of his chest.

"Gahaha!!" Garock cackled as he approached, glass flowers crunching below his boots. His eyes glowed red with mana, his bloodthirst quite apparent, "'Ow many years 'as it been since dis body's felt PAINNNN?!?"

"I do wish you'd grow tired of bleeding and-- DIE!!" Tycon circulated his mana through his body to increase his speed and dashed forward.

He slashed, he redirected his momentum into more slashes and stabs, he kicked and elbowed, and he slipped Garock's slow, heavy swings. The Orcish Samurai expertly blocked, deflected, or counterattacked with fists and knees to nullify Tycon's sword at every step.

Finally, Tycon's emotionally driven barrage of attacks rewarded him with a ⌈Taste the Demon Blade⌋ slash across his chest. A subsequent heavy kick to his gut sent him, again, sprawled and skidding along the shattered-flower field... further ruining his borrowed cloak.

Tycon slammed a gloved hand into the shards in frustration, then kicked his feet and used the momentum to roll to the standing.

The orc lightly ground the tips of his sharp teeth, "'An 'ere I was... 'oping you'd finally be da one to kill me, Warrior Tycondrius."

Garock watched with an amused Orcish grin plastered on his stupid tusked face.

Tycon spat to the side.

Blood.

Empty night.

"Oh really?" Tycon smirked to hide his uncertainty, wiping the blood from his mouth, "Do you think this is the best I can do?"

⟬ ⌈Inspirational Surge⌋ conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ⟭

« Do so. Death to the enemies of Invictus. »

⟬ Activating. Death to the enemies of Invictus. ⟭

Tycon had tested his limits and was found wanting. He was outclassed in one-on-one martial combat against the Gold-Rank Orcish Samurai.

The orc raised an eyebrow and re-assumed his defensive stance, "Strong. Resilient. A good opponent."

« System, analysis: The material of Garock's sword. »

⟬ System response: Mundane high-carbon steel. ⟭

Tycon immediately formed a reckless plan, relying on the fact that his sword was enchanted and Garock's was not.

"Tss. A ghost that refuses to die," Tycon scoffed. "Pretending to have honor as he cuts down the innocent."

Tycon was not the smartest individual when it came to personal combat. His actions were a grave taboo within the adventuring community. He was purposely aggravating a 6 and a half fulm tall, 300 ponze Gold-Rank orc.

It was a thrice-damned death wish.

The effects were immediate, with the orc roaring to the clouded sky. Blinded by bloodlust, Garock charged forward, crunching the crystalline flowers underfoot and holding his sword back, ready to end Tycon's reasonably innocent life.

Tycon held his sword across his body, opposite of how Garock's sword was positioned.

If he wasn't concentrating, he would have soiled himself.

There.

Tycon threw the crystalline fragments he'd grabbed at the orc's face, forcing Garock to slow and shield his eyes. It would have been a great advantage if the Samurai was blinded.

The orc's eyes shot open, dripping blood and shining blood red and bright...

Seven hells.

It didn't blind Garock. It only made him more terrifying.

The Orcish Samurai screamed, mana empowering the speed and strength of his sword slash, "⌈Taste the DEMON BLAAAAADE!!⌋"

Tycon had attacks he could yell, too. He planted his feet and rotated his body, swinging his sword at Garock's weapon, "⌈LegionBREAKERRRR!!!!!⌋"

The mana-sharpened sword cleaved through the orc's steel, the upper two-thirds of it flung away into the distance.

Tycon breathed a sigh of relief. His plan had worked.

Nice.

Then Garock stabbed the broken blade into Tycon's chest, right underneath the shoulder.

Gods... DAMN IT!!

The orc smashed his thick forehead into Tycon's face then slashed again-- which Tycon was barely able to block.

Tycon counterattacked out of reflex-- a horrid mistake. He found his wrist grasped tightly by Garock's grey-green hand.

...He knew where he was going before he left.

Garock lowered his body while pulling Tycon close, then flipped him up and over with a shoulder throw.