He brought the stick up fast.
Just fast enough to crack into Freck's forearm and send it flying off target. Even so, he felt the razor sharp tip of one claw as it screamed close enough to almost scratch his cheek.
Then he was staring eye to eye with the beast Freck had become.
The lunging jaws snapped shut where Vlad's face had been moments before.
Dropping into a crouch, Vlad powered forward.
The third step. A flurry of blows delivered with concussive effect. Fletch took them with his arms as he tried to protect his head.
He didn't whine or whimper.
But he did back down, head ducking to one side to avoid another blow from Vlad's stick.
"Come on, dog," Vlad hissed, his blood pumping hard. "Is that all you got?"
Then he pounced, repeating the third step.
Again and again.
A relentless cascade of strikes which chipped away at the beast's fury, driving Freck back one step at a time.
Vlad could feel the wave of anger inside him cresting. Rising high enough to drown the world.
The Black Dragon Court must rise again!
These words rang in his mind, each syllable heavy with driving need.
Crack!
Crack!
Freck yelped.
Vlad pivoted.
Then started the forms.
First, the clean lunge of the first step.
Second step. An arcing wave as the sword flowed eagerly back towards the guts of Freck as he dodged desperately.
Third step. A rapid flow of concussive strikes aimed at the head. Any attempts to block would cause the enemy to retreat under the weight of the battering strikes.
Fourth step. A spiralling upward cut from hip to shoulder. If the enemy has their hands up to block the third step, their torso should be open.
If not, it blasts open their guard and prepares for the fifth step.
Fifth step. Stomping forward, into the enemy's guard, reversing the blade to strike down diagonally. If enough strength is used, it will send them off balance and leave their body open.
These five were a continuous flow for Vlad. And he drifted through them without pause or error. Every movement performed with the seamless flow of a master.
Leaving no room for Freck to fight back.
No time for him to breathe.
No gap for him to exploit.
And limited chances to disengage or evade.
Freck howled, swiping desperately at Vlad with his claws. Green energy hissed along the sharp curved edges, hinting at poison.
As Vlad stepped into the sixth form, he gave no thought the werewolf's innate skills.
Instead, he focused on himself.
On his own skills.
He started smoothly.
Feeling the blood energy hum as he squeezed some of it through his fingers. It danced up the stick like a violent wave.
As the red energy snapped and crackled up the wooden blade, the bandits all took a step back.
Elder Miklos gasped loudly.
Vlad grit his teeth as his makeshift sword criss-crossed Freck's body. The werewolf managed to block one, but his arm was bashed aside, leaving him open for the final downward cut.
A cut that, if Vlad was using steel, would have cleaved him in two from head to groin. Even with wood, it should pulverise the beast's skull at least, turning it to mist.
Everything was poised in that moment.
Vlad felt the wood vibrate in his hand.
Stay together, you bastard!
Freck's eyes widened. Finally, he whined. A plaintive whine that knew he was about to die.
As the wooden stick carved down, a perfect red line flashed in its wake.
Then, with an explosive crack, the entire stick burst apart in Vlad's hands. Splinters speared out in all directions, leaving Freck staring stunned at the now defenceless fledgling in front of him.
Both of them took a single breath.
"Shit," Vlad grunted.
Looked left.
Looked right.
Looked down.
Eyes slitted, aimed at Freck's discarded sword laying in the mud.
His lips curled.
"Oh no, you don't," Freck hissed.
Then, as one, they dove for the steel sword.
They scrambled through the mud. Freck lashed out, his weak arm clawing at Vlad's face.
Who dove under the bestial swipe, flinging himself forward with all his strength.
But a werewolf's hind legs were built for speed.
Freck reached the sword first.
His muzzle pulled back into a leer as his hands found the blade.
"Dog," Vlad snarled, fist blurring as he aimed a punch at the werewolf's jaw.
With a snap of his jaws, Freck tried to crunch down on the fledgling's hand.
Missed.
And only then saw it had been a feint all along. Vlad's boot, arced.
The kick rocked Freck's head back.
But not before his paw raked savagely through the air between them. Vlad's eyes widened as he saw the green energy flare brighter down the edge of the claws.
The beast was using his internal energy to build an explosive blast!
I can't be hit with that!
He scrambled back on his heels, but was still caught in the explosive blast of air which flung him aside like a doll. The force of the werewolf's enhanced swing was nothing to scoff at, he thought dimly.
He bounced.
Twice.
Then tumbled into a couple of bandits, who went down with him. Their curses rang loudly and he felt their fists beat against his back as he lashed out himself.
One punch sent a bandit sprawling.
Second punch doubled the other over.
Vlad heard a wicked laugh and turned.
Saw Freck standing slowly as it started to rain. In his right fist, the heavy steel sword.
Wiping his jaw with the back of his hand, Freck spat a mouthful of blood.
"I've finished playing with you, fledgling," the werewolf rasped through his deformed mouth. "Gonna kill you now."
Vlad, doubled across his knee, lowered his head.
Muttered softly as rain pattered down around them.
Too soft for the werewolf to hear.
Towering over the hunched fledgling, Freck chuckled. "What's that, fledgling? You ain't got such a smart mouth now, do you?"
"Closer…"
"Huh?"
Vlad's head snapped up. "I said come closer, dog."
The short sword, ripped from the grasp of the bandit he'd first punched, tore upward in a savage line Freck hadn't expected.
Vlad screamed as he poured blood energy into the old blade.
It wasn't a good sword.
But it could take the meagre energy he was channelling into it without too much trouble.
Steel met groin.
Then ripped upward.
Tore through flesh.
Bone.
And exited with a spray of blood through the stunned werewolf's shoulder.
Freck staggered back a half-step.
Looked down.
Blinked in denial as his blood erupted in a warm arterial spray.
"That wasn't supposed to happen," he squeezed out through his mutated muzzle.
And died on his feet.
His body collapsed in death, splashing into the mud. The rain spat down around it, mingling with the expanding pool of blood.
Elder Miklos, half risen from his seat on the wagon, gawked at the boy.
His mouth open, he couldn't believe what he'd seen.
"The Great Sword Art!" Never had he thought to see it. In truth, he'd thought it was impossible. Even Elder Laszlo couldn't manifest his blood energy! Yet, this boy had used blood energy to reinforce his blade! "Incredible!"
"Oh, this isn't good," Roland muttered. "Mikkel? Horris? Stay close!"
Both men tossed their bows into the wagon and drew short swords, eyeing the bandits warily. "Yes, boss."
"Freck!" A bandit stumbled to the dead body and knelt down beside it. "What shit thing have you done, leech? Do you even know who you just killed?"
Vlad, panting hard, lurched to his feet.
The rage had still not left his eyes.
A grin spread slowly across his lips as he leaned down and picked up the bigger sword Freck had used. Tossing the short one aside, he fixed his gaze on the crouching bandit.
A cold gaze.
Filled with loathing.
"You dare talk to me, dog?"
"You don't know what you've done!"
"I killed a mutt. So what? I've killed plenty before."
"He's Draven's brother!" The bandit gripped his sword tight. "When he finds out, he's going to burn down your shit little ruin and everyone in it!"
"Then maybe I shouldn't let you tell him?"
"What?"
The sword spoke its deathly language with a single arcing cut which took the bandit's head clean off and sent it sailing. The head rolled to a stop between the legs of another.
Whose face paled.
He gulped. Then broke the silence with a croak; "K-k-k-kill him!"
The bandits stared at Vlad, still unsure what to do.
How could this small fledgling from a broken court like the Black Dragon Court kill someone so strong as Freck?
They couldn't believe it.
Who did he think he was? Didn't he realise how weak his court was compared to the might of the Full Moon Clan? Was he crazed?
Or was he stronger than they could deal with?
Should they attack him?
Should they run away?
Draven would kill them if they did. And this fledgling would kill them if they didn't.
What to do?
What to think?
These questions kept them from moving irrationally. They shuffled. Some forward, some back.
Vlad stared at them. Taking them all in. His eyes flicking this way and that.
Bared his fangs.
And moved first.