Well Done.... Brother

Azrael ducked under Lucan's swing with precision, rolling smoothly to the side before delivering a swift kick to the back of Lucan's leg. The impact forced Lucan down to one knee, but he recovered quickly, lunging at Azrael in an attempt to disarm him. The effort only earned him another slash across his arm. Lucan let out a sharp hiss of anger and frustration, his face twisting with irritation. Nothing was going as planned.

Nearly all of his men were dead, and there was no one left to come to his aid. He was alone in this fight, and the weight of that realization was beginning to show.

Lucan's movements had grown sluggish, his strength waning with each passing moment. Azrael could see the cracks in his resolve, the exhaustion slowing his attacks and leaving openings that were easier to exploit. It was becoming less of a fight and more of a struggle for Lucan to keep up.