Should there have been a witness to our short exchange, the watcher might have been able to discern the slight grin that speads across my face when my mark is able to sever the spike I intended to kill it with. In its stead, the stump grows wider until there is a huge mallet swinging towards my pined adversary.

At the last second, the beast in my hold slumps, and instead of a killing blow I just graze it. Most of the force of my swing comes down on my own hand, and breaking the hold I follow with my gaze as the creatores body slumps to the ground.

Preparing to swing again - a blow that should surely finish this - I see the damnable thing stir...