Braska doesn't rush.
That's the part that scares Kamiko and Serenith the most. The chief circles him at a casual, unhurried, contemptuous pace, liquid fur still streaming off him in slow black ribbons, curved blades held loose and low like he's already decided how this fight ends.
"You wanted a demonstration!" Braska barks loudly, voice carrying easily over the roaring crowd. "I'll give you one to remember!"
He closes the distance in a blur. Lucien gets a forearm up just in time, catches the flat of a blade instead of the edge, and still goes flying, limbs screaming, sand filling his mouth before he even registers the impact.
"Get up!" Braska says, almost bored with the proceedings. "I'm not even close to finishing yet."
Lucien gets up, spitting sand, shaking the numbness from his arm.
"Two minutes," Lucien pleads, voice ragged with pain, "if you could give me a chance to—"
