But even as it fell, another took its place.
Bonefist charged from the side, his reinforced gloves aimed straight at Vayne's ribs. Vayne blocked with his sword, but the impact rattled his bones. He gritted his teeth and shoved back, using his superior strength to force space between them.
He was stronger.
Faster.
More refined.
But they didn't fight like living men.
They fought like something that didn't care if they died.
Skullbreaker's spiked club came crashing down from above. Vayne rolled to the side just in time. The weapon smashed into the street, cracking the stone and sending fragments flying.
Vayne pushed himself up, breath coming harder now.
He could feel it.
Fatigue.
The earlier drain from the brothel. The strange heaviness in his limbs. The wound in his thigh. The constant pressure from all sides.
He couldn't think about what they were.
Couldn't think about bone spears or bloodless bodies.
If he did.
He would hesitate.
And hesitation meant death.
