Minutes had passed, and Cassian had already carved chunks of flesh from Robert again and again. Blood soaked the ground, pieces of torn meat still twitching where they'd fallen. At least he'd stopped slicing them smaller—no need to make the mess worse.
Instead, the writhing scraps dragged themselves back toward Robert, stitching together across his body. What stood there now barely resembled a man—more like a hastily assembled meat puppet, ugly and wrong, with only half his original face still recognizable beneath the mass he'd regenerated.
It made him stronger. Not strong enough.
Cassian could still handle him even without the war armor—he'd already dismissed it. No point risking being seen wearing something like that. As for Robert, it didn't matter. He wasn't leaving this fight alive.
The only real problem was that absurd regeneration.
Cassian clenched his jaw. 'Is this how people feel when they fight me?'
