[ There's no delay in his reaction once their weapons are flung off each other, and Dokja's quick to bring his sword back up to block the next strike. It doesn't stop there, and he's left with little time to think as he concentrates on holding off the successive rush of attacks. He's forced back as intended, mindful of where he steps after having the ground erupt from under him.
Each downward swing reignites the pain already shooting through him, makes him more aware of every injury dashed across his body as the blows continue on and on. They thrum and echo past skin and sinew, to the point where it feels like his bones are rattling with the amount of exertion and strength Gen pelts down on him. Like this, there's a noticeable difference between them, made especially obvious by the way Dokja's arms shake with the effort to hold on despite the heavy strikes landing again and again. What has he been doing these past few months besides being holed up in his room with only books for company?
He's out of practice. He's out of options.
Not to mention, he doesn't have anger on his side. There's nothing inside of him but an emptiness to reach into, with only darkness to lap at his fingertips. He's not fighting for anything. He's fighting for the sake of fighting.
Eventually, he's pushed back enough that the heel of his boot touches upon something solid, and Dokja doesn't have any time to turn and look at what it is that's behind him, all of his focus honed in on fending off these brutal blows that seem intent on shattering his blade to get through to him. ]
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Each downward swing reignites the pain already shooting through him, makes him more aware of every injury dashed across his body as the blows continue on and on. They thrum and echo past skin and sinew, to the point where it feels like his bones are rattling with the amount of exertion and strength Gen pelts down on him. Like this, there's a noticeable difference between them, made especially obvious by the way Dokja's arms shake with the effort to hold on despite the heavy strikes landing again and again. What has he been doing these past few months besides being holed up in his room with only books for company?
He's out of practice. He's out of options.
Not to mention, he doesn't have anger on his side. There's nothing inside of him but an emptiness to reach into, with only darkness to lap at his fingertips. He's not fighting for anything. He's fighting for the sake of fighting.
Eventually, he's pushed back enough that the heel of his boot touches upon something solid, and Dokja doesn't have any time to turn and look at what it is that's behind him, all of his focus honed in on fending off these brutal blows that seem intent on shattering his blade to get through to him. ]