Illogical

Northern's sword carved through the grotesque abominations with ruthless precision, his movements deceptively fluid. One moment, he was barely shifting—an almost imperceptible flick of his wrist. The next, a clean, effortless arc of steel sliced through sinew and bone.

There was no hesitation. No wasted motion.

A creature lunged. He skewered it mid-air. Another twisted its broken limbs toward him—his blade severed its head before its malformed jaw could snap shut.

A third abomination was unfortunate enough to get close. Northern didn't even bother with his sword this time.

Black flames erupted from his free hand, engulfing his forearm in searing, unnatural heat. He drove it forward, straight through the creature's chest.

A heartbeat later, the flames detonated, erasing its entire torso in an instant. His arm tore through the dissipating remains, emerging behind it, dripping with sizzling, half-burned ichor.