The lethal dance continued, Northern's clone and the feral Night Terror worked in seamless tandem against their opponent.
Between sword slashes and augmenting claw swipes at crucial moments, the disadvantaged lizard began to grow sluggish. Gaping wounds liberally leaked dark ichor while massive chest heaves competed for oxygen to fuel flagging muscles.
Yet the ferocious temper still burned in its eyes.
The towering enemy knew that to surrender meant obliteration.
Its kind was made to fight until the last spark was snuffed out. No gentle slide into darkness— only the ecstasy of combat until its jaws closed on its dying breath at last.
The lizard rushed, heedless and without restraint, accepting its own gruesome end if it meant bringing even one of its adversaries along with it.
Enraged death throes shook the blood-slicked ground.
The lizard strained desperately as it grappled with Night Terror once more.