The hands moved and every chakram went toward Ludwig. They left the hooded man like a flock let loose at once, each ring taking a slightly different line, each edge singing a different hunger. Dodging, parrying, blocking were all thoughts that didn't last in Ludwig's mind more than a millisecond. Doing any of the three would leave him open, and open here meant a throat opened the wrong way, or an arm spun off at the socket, or a neat red line across the ribs for the next nail to find. All terrible conclusions. All too easy to reach.
"Graviol. Gravitas." Ludwig howled as he slammed his staff down on the ground, digging through the dirt. The strike sent a grit-shiver up his hands. Weight answered the call. The floor felt briefly older under his boots.
