Sezel and Vesta stood backs aligned, at the center of a vortex. The beast was too fast, and it circled them at a speed that defied physics, kicking up a vortex of wind and dust, their hearts hammering in their chests as they waited for the strike to descend, and then it did.
It happened just in an instant, a flash of darkness that was there and then gone. A blurry figure, trailing ethereal afterimages that confused the eye, lunged at Sezel. He raised his katana to strike, a desperate, reflexive action, but he was already too late. The crimson scythe, like a crescent moon of death, was already at his waist, its edge a whisper away from cleaving him in two.
Sezel's blood ran cold. There was no escape. He couldn't jump, he couldn't crouch; the scythe would get him either way. He was trapped, a fly caught in a spider's web, the final, fatal moment stretching into an eternity.
THUD!
