The lethal dance continued, Northern's clone and feral Night Terror working in seamless tandem against their opponent.
Between sword slashes augmenting claw swipes at crucial moments, the disadvantaged lizard began to slow. Gaping wounds liberally leaked dark ichor while massive chest heaves competed for oxygen to fuel flagging muscles.
Yet ferocious temper still burned in its eyes.
The towering enemy knew that to surrender meant obliteration.
Its kind were made to fight until the last spark guttered out. No gentle slide into darkness—only the ecstasy of combat until jaws closed upon the dying breath at last.
The lizard rushed, heedless and without restraint, accepting its own gruesome end if it meant bringing even one of its adversaries alongside.
Enraged death throes shook the blood-slicked ground.
Mighty thews strained desperately as it grappled with Night Terror once more.
