Wha’ are You Dooing!?

We dove in opposite directions as that massive slab of metal—the GREAT MACHETE—came crashing down. It pulverized the floor where we’d been standing a microsecond ago, sending shards of stone flying like shrapnel.

From the center of the dust cloud, the TYRANT fixed his predator gaze on me. Great. Why is it always me? He lunged, stepping into a massive arc and swinging those tree-trunk arms with enough force to level a house.

I saw it coming, though. The guy was the perfect package of strength and speed, but a weapon that size has massive tells. If I kept my head, I could read his motions like a book.

I parried.

Clang!

The impact was insane—way beyond anything I’d braced for. My expression twisted as my arms went numb, and for just a fraction of a second, my counterattack faltered.

In a fight against a monster like him, a fraction of a second is an eternity.

"Swordsmen... every last one of you makes the same damn moves!"

Before I could blink, the TYRANT had shifted the GREAT MACHETE to a one-handed grip. His free hand was already a blur, flying straight toward my face.

"Claire!" Milia screamed.

The TYRANT didn't even turn around; he just checked her with a cold, murderous glare that kept her frozen. I took the hit full-on, tumbling across the floor in a heap of limbs. I scrambled back to my feet immediately, trying to act like it didn't hurt, but then I spat a glob of red onto the tiles.

"Ouch... you cut the inside of my mouth wide open, you jerk."

I glared at him. The TYRANT raised an eyebrow, looking almost impressed. He was grinning, but I noticed a shallow red line blooming across his abdomen.

"Most guys are finished after one of those," he chuckled. "You’re used to taking a beating, aren't you?"

"I have a GOOD-FOR-NOTHING LITTLE BROTHER, you see."

I flashed him a bloody, terrifying grin. While he’d been busy punching my lights out, I’d sacrificed my face to kill the momentum and carve a little souvenir into his gut. All those years of dealing with Cid’s nonsense finally paid off.

I took a practice swing to make sure my joints still worked and spat out some more blood-tainted spit.

"You're just a man of nothing but violence," I taunted. "You have no technique."

I was bluffing, obviously. My head was spinning, and the metallic taste in my mouth was overwhelming. Trading hits with a guy whose "light tap" felt like a falling boulder was a tactical disaster. The weight of our blows wasn't even in the same league.

"Technique? Ha! I've never touched martial arts. Never needed 'em!"

He lunged again. The guy was a freak of nature—high PHYSICAL ABILITY, a massive MAGIC POWER AMOUNT, and a COMBAT SENSE that bordered on precognition. He didn't need "techniques." For a guy like him, forms and styles were just shackles.

I tried to parry the next brute-force slash, but my feet didn't listen. My brain was still rattled from the punch, and my balance was shot.

Crap!

He didn't miss the opening. He wound up, the GREAT MACHETE whistling as it rose high above his head.

"I told you," he sneered. "I've got good intuition."

He swung.

The blade missed me by a mile, screaming past my side at a terrifying speed. But then, a warm, heavy spray of red splashed across my cheek.

"...Eh?"

I was fine. I didn't have a scratch on me. But when I looked to my side, I saw Milia. Her stomach had been sliced wide open.

Gurgle...

She spat blood and collapsed to her knees.

"Mi—Milia!!"

"Swordsmen, seriously, you're all the same," the TYRANT mocked, his villainous face twisted in a sneer. "She was waiting for the moment I dropped my guard to save you, and I was waiting for the moment she tried to kill me. Simple as that."

Tears blurred my vision as I rushed to her. "Milia... oh god, no..."

The wound was deep—it had reached her vitals. It was a fatal blow. Even though I knew it was probably pointless, I pressed my hands to the wound and tried to force my MAGIC POWER into her to stop the bleeding.

Milia pushed my hand away.

"Cough! Blood... cough..."

She stared at me, her eyes pleading through the crimson mess.

"Milia, don't move! I can fix this!"

She grabbed my hand with surprising strength, her gaze desperate. "Claire... I'm sorry... let me... suck your blood."

And then, she latched onto my lips.

"M-mmgh!?"

My eyes nearly popped out of my head. This wasn't exactly the "first kiss" scenario I’d ever imagined. She was drinking the blood flowing from my cut lip, her eyes bleeding into a predatory, glowing red.