True Fear

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"How does it feel?" Cain snarled, lifting Ironscale once more and throwing him across the room. Ironscale crashed into a pile of rubble, his body barely moving.

"Hahahahahahahah," Ironscale's mocking laughter reverberated throughout the ruined building, a hollow echo in the silence that followed. His body was broken, but his spirit seemed unyielding.

Fear, however, had begun to creep into his voice, a tremor that betrayed the façade of invincibility.

For the second time in his life, Ironscale felt the icy grip of fear. Such deep fear that it felt as if Death's scythe was poised right above his neck.

He muttered nonsense, his words a jumble of terror and despair.

"You think... you think this is the end?" he gasped, his eyes wild and unfocused. "You don't know... you don't know what real fear is."

Cain approached slowly, his sword still in hand. "And what do you know about fear, Ironscale?"