Mist-Reaper (2)

Sora swallowed, his hands still clutching his weapon. He wanted to help, he wanted to move, but he knew he'd be more of an obstacle than an asset. Yet he refused to look away. He had to memorize Jarek's every move, the Mist-Reaper's every reaction. He knew it would come in handy one day.

The creature, now wounded, redoubled its aggression. It leapt towards Jarek, its claws ripping through the air at impressive speed. But Jarek dodged again, his suppleness and control making his movements almost supernatural. He counter-attacked with surgical precision, aiming at the beast's weak points: the joints of its limbs, the less protected areas of its abdomen.

Yet the Mist-Reaper seemed to thrive on the tension of combat. Every wound made him faster, more vicious. His tail suddenly slammed into Jarek, who this time, despite his speed, couldn't completely avoid it. He was struck on the shoulder and thrown against a dead tree trunk.

“Jarek!” shouted Sora, a mixture of panic and instinct.