The situation had turned into a one-sided slaughter. The god-like being, once a symbol of terror, was now being completely washed.
"What's the matter? I thought you were strong," Taz mocked, his voice cutting through the roar of the wind.
Bang! Another punch connected, the sound of bone hitting obsidian echoing like a mallet on an anvil. Even now, Taz hadn't so much as touched the blade of his sword.
Bagu, refusing to accept his fate, unleashed a desperate barrage of sonic blasts from his maw. The concussive waves rippled through the air, trying to shatter Taz's concentration and break the tether of the attraction. Taz began weaving past the blasts with predatory grace; some waves drifted harmlessly away while others were sucked toward him. It became clear that the magnetic-like pull of his sword was being selective—calculatedly warding off threats while dragging in anything it could use as a weapon.
