Predator vs predator

The shattered blade rested quietly on Belial's side, its cracked form sealed away. It pulsed faintly, a dying ember of the storm it once was. But the enchantment still clung to him like a second skin—its power hadn't faded yet. He could still feel it in the marrow of his bones. His limbs were lighter. His strikes sharper.

But now…

He had no weapon.

He had to become one.

Belial stepped forward, claws unsheathed. The thin, blackened claws extended from his fingertips, curved and razor-sharp. They glowed with residual ether, each claw etched faintly with the same crimson energy that once adorned his sword. He flexed his fingers once. Twice. They were strong. Strong enough to pierce flesh. Maybe not the monster's reinforced skin—but the weak points.

Still, he cursed beneath his breath. I was never the best with this style of fighting.

Through all his training, he had always used blades—nothing else. They gave him reach, clarity, a sense of control that grounded him in the chaos of battle. The weight of a sword in his hand was like an extension of his will, a conduit for the ether that coursed through his veins. But now, there was no blade to channel his power, no steel to anchor his focus.

Across the scarred clearing, the monster stood, its massive body steaming, wounds hissing with vile black vapor. Even injured, it radiated overwhelming power. Speed. Strength. Raw terror in the shape of something almost human, but impossibly wrong. Its form was a grotesque mockery of life—limbs too long, joints bending at unnatural angles, and eyes that glowed with a sickly yellow light. Its armored plates gleamed dully under the fractured moonlight, each scale etched with scars from battles it had survived. This was no ordinary beast.

It was a Prime, after all.

I'm not faster than it, Belial admitted, his eyes tracking the creature's twitching limbs. Not stronger, either.

But then he grinned, a feral edge to his expression.

But skill… skill's a different game entirely.

What made a great gamer, after all?

Not raw power, not brute force, but something sharper, more refined. Adaptation. Timing. Dexterity. These were the tools that had carried him through countless battles, games, through the trials of his master, through the endless nights of training until his muscles screamed and his mind teetered on the edge of collapse.

He had honed his craft in the crucible of combat, learning to read an opponent's movements, to exploit their weaknesses, to turn their strengths against them. And now, facing a Prime with nothing but his claws and his wits, those skills would be his salvation...or his doom.

Belial cracked his neck, his stance low, knees bent like coiled springs. Ether pulsed through his spine, wrapping around his bones like a living current. His senses sharpened, the world slowing to a crystalline clarity. The rustle of leaves, the distant drip of water, the faint hum of the monster's breathing—all of it sharpened into focus. His heart pounded, but it was not fear. It was anticipation.

They collided.

Belial weaved beneath the initial strike, his body flowing like water under a collapsing pillar. The monster's claw, tipped with jagged bone, tore through the air where his head had been a moment before. He spun inward, claws slicing upward across the beast's inner arm. Sparks flew where talon met armored sinew, the impact reverberating through his hands. The creature shrieked, a sound that grated against his eardrums, and swung a backhand toward him—but Belial was already gone, sliding beneath the blow, twisting behind it with a dancer's grace.

Death Dance: Bloodless Passage.

The technique was one of his master's oldest teachings, a movement that turned the body into a phantom, untouchable and fleeting. Midair, Belial shifted—his legs tucking, arms loose, his center tightening like a dancer's. His eyes narrowed to pinpoints, the world shrinking to the monster's frame. In his mind's eye, its weak points glowed like beacons: the base of the skull, the throat, the joints where armor gave way to softer tissue.

A thin line of ether curled around his glowing right hand as he launched forward.

Brain.

He jabbed toward the base of the skull, fingers driving like a spear. The beast ducked, its reflexes sharper than he'd anticipated, and his strike missed by a hair. The air hissed with the force of his thrust, and the creature lurched forward, its balance disrupted.

Throat.

Belial spun sideways, claw raking across the neck. The strike wasn't deep enough to sever the vital arteries, but it left a jagged line of torn flesh. He felt the ether bite into something tender beneath the outer shell, and the beast's growl turned into a choked snarl.

Shoulder.

He pivoted, driving his left claw in a corkscrew motion under the collarbone. The creature's body jerked, its massive arm flailing wildly as the strike hit a nerve cluster. Belial's lips twitched in satisfaction another hit landed.

Heart.

He darted in from the side, leaping with a twist, palm flat as a blade. He drove it toward the chest, aiming for the gap between the armored plates. But the resistance was too great, the armor too thick. His claws skittered off the surface, leaving only shallow scratches. The beast roared, its massive arm swinging in a wide arc but Belial flipped backward, using the failed strike's rebound to spin behind it.

Lung.

He struck lower, fingers carving in toward the ribs. This time, he heard a wet gasp as his claws sank into softer tissue. The beast buckled forward slightly, its breath hitching. Yes. That one had landed true.

Stomach.

He ducked under a retaliatory swing, driving his knee into the creature's gut while raking down with both hands. More blood sprayed, black and steaming, and the beast let out a stuttering groan, its movements slowing for a fraction of a second.

Liver.

Belial twisted again, striking from the right with vicious precision. His claw sank deeper than the others, drawing a spray of steaming ichor. The monster screeched, its body convulsing as the strike hit a vital organ.

He was in his element, a predator matching a predator, his claws an extension of his will. The monster was weakening—he could feel it. Each strike chipped away at its strength, its speed, its ferocity. He prepared to finish it, his eyes locking onto the base of its skull once more.

But then—he overextended. Just a fraction.

And that's all the creature needed.

The beast's tail snapped from behind like a whip, a blur of motion that Belial's senses barely registered. His instincts flared in warning, but it was too late. He turned halfway, raising an arm in defense—but the tail hit with the force of a boulder, slamming across his entire torso.

CRACK.

Pain exploded through his ribs, a white-hot surge that drowned out everything else. His body was launched backward, the world blurring into streaks of color and static. Trees flashed past, their bark shattering under the force of his passage. Branches snapped like brittle bones. The wind howled in his ears, a deafening roar that matched the agony in his chest.

He crashed through one trunk, then another, the impacts jarring his already battered body. Finally, he slammed into the earth, the impact leaving a crater of splintered wood and churned dirt. He rolled—once, twice—before coming to a stop, his body twitching in the aftermath.

A groan escaped his throat, low and ragged. His hand… still glowed faintly, the ether clinging to his claws like a stubborn flame. He coughed, tasting the coppery tang of blood. His vision swam, the edges darkening as he fought to stay conscious.

I got sloppy… too greedy.

In the distance, he heard the monster's heavy steps approaching—calculated, slow. Not a blind charge. It was learning. Adapting.

Just like me…

Belial didn't rise yet. His body screamed in protest, every nerve alight with pain. His ribs were cracked, maybe broken. His lungs burned with every shallow breath. But his eyes fluttered open, staring up at the blackened sky peeking through the shattered canopy of trees. The echoes of his master's words rattled in his head, as they always did in moments like this.

"A blade is only as strong as the will behind it. Without will, it is nothing. Without you, it is nothing."

But this time, something else echoed, a memory buried deeper, from the earliest days of his training.

"Even without a blade, you must be able to tame death and use it as a weapon. You must become the cause of death."

He moved a finger. Then another. The glow of his claws flickered but didn't fade. The ether was still there, pulsing faintly, waiting to be called. His lips curled in defiance, though blood stained his teeth.

The monster's steps grew louder, its shadow falling over the crater. Belial's eyes narrowed, his mind sharpening despite the pain. He wasn't done yet. Not by a long shot. He had no blade, no weapon save his own body—but that was enough. It had to be.

He rolled to his side, ignoring the sharp stab in his ribs. His claws dug into the earth, grounding him as he pushed himself to his knees. The monster loomed closer, its hollow eyes gleaming with predatory intent. It knew he was wounded. It thought it had won.

Belial's grin widened, a feral, bloody thing.

"Come, you fiend."