Struggle

"I can kill."

Ash flinched hearing his own voice.

He sounded… too confident.

The Phantom, although slightly injured, was still more than capable of shredding him to pieces. It was a being that he had feared since he first heard about its existence, a monster of immense power and merciless intent.

He himself had never even touched a hilt of sword prior to this moment. There was simply no way he could defeat such a formidable opponent.

And yet…

His mind was calm.

Shriek…

The Phantom's shriek tore Ash from his internal debate.

It wasn't the same ear-splitting screech from before, more like a choked roar fueled by pain and fury. The creature charged, its injured legs dragging slightly, but its remaining limbs propelled it forward with surprising speed.

Ash knew blind defense wouldn't win him this. He had to attack.

Gritting his teeth, he lunged forward, aiming a desperate swipe at the Phantom's midsection. The sword felt heavy, awkward in his untrained hands. The blow landed harmlessly, glancing off the creature's thick carapace and fur with a shower of sparks.

The Phantom didn't falter.

One of its remaining good legs lashed out like a whip, the scythe-like claw catching Ash across the chest. Leather ripped with a sickening sound, and a searing pain erupted across his torso, stealing his breath.

He stumbled back, the world momentarily turning into a dizzying blur.

"Ughhh…"

Regaining his footing, Ash tasted blood metallic and warm in his mouth. Panic threatened to overwhelm him again, but the sight of the wound on the Phantom's leg, the glistening black ichor leaking from it, fueled a surge of desperate defiance.

He will worry about his own injuries after the battle is over.

He launched into a series of wild attacks, each one telegraphed and easily dodged by the creature. The Phantom moved with a predatory grace belying its monstrous form. A swipe of its claws sent the sword clattering across the forest floor. Unarmed and desperate, Ash threw himself at the creature, hoping to grapple it.

A monstrous maw filled his vision. Rows of needle-like teeth clamped down on his forearm, the pain instantaneous and all-encompassing. A sickening crunch echoed through the clearing as bone gave way under the Phantom's immense bite.

"AGGGHHH!!!"

Ash screamed, a primal, guttural sound that tore from his throat.

The world dissolved into a red haze. His arm, a useless, mangled appendage, hung limp by his side. The Phantom tossed him aside like a ragdoll, his body slamming against a thick tree trunk with a sickening thud. Stars exploded in his vision, and a wave of nausea washed over him.

He lay there, gasping for air, the metallic tang of blood flooding his mouth. The forest swam before his eyes, the rhythmic thudding of his own heart a counterpoint to the ringing in his ears. His sword lay a few feet away, mockingly out of reach.

Above him, the monstrous form of the Phantom loomed, its crimson eyes burning with a terrible hunger. It let out a low growl, the sound vibrating through Ash's very bones.

Every fiber of his being screamed in agony, his mangled arm a furnace of white-hot pain. Yet, a primal instinct for survival surged through him, overriding the terror that threatened to consume him.

The low growl resonated again, a death knell in his ears.

Through the haze, he saw the Phantom shift, its enormous claws scraping against the dirt as it prepared to deliver the final blow. In that split second, a flicker of defiance sparked within him. Maybe he couldn't win, but he wouldn't go down whimpering.

With a superhuman effort, fueled by pure desperation, Ash dug his good hand into the damp earth, twisting his body with a gasp. The world lurched, pain exploding in a fresh wave as his injured side protested.

But it was enough.

He rolled, a clumsy, desperate maneuver that sent him scraping against the rough bark of a nearby tree.

The Phantom, momentarily thrown off guard, slammed its monstrous paw into the spot where Ash had been lying just a fraction of a second ago. A crater filled with loose earth marked the near miss.

Ash lay there, gasping for air, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

His vision slowly cleared. There, just beyond reach, lay his fallen sword, glinting like a beacon of hope in the dim light of the lanterns. 

Gathering the last vestiges of his strength, Ash lunged. It wasn't a graceful movement, more of a frantic scramble, but it served its purpose. He snatched the hilt of the sword, the rough leather biting into his sweat-slick palm.

He held it aloft, point wobbling slightly, his entire body a tremor of pain and exertion. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth, a metallic counterpoint to the ragged gasps that escaped his lips. He barely recognized his own reflection in the polished surface of the blade, his face contorted in a mask of agony and determination.

The Phantom, momentarily stunned by Ash's unexpected movement, reared back on its haunches. Its crimson eyes narrowed, gleaming with a cold, predatory intelligence. It let out a guttural snarl, the sound reverberating through the clearing like a thunderclap.

Time seemed to slow down. The air crackled with a tangible tension. Ash knew he couldn't hold this stance for long. His remaining hand, unaccustomed to the weight of the sword, threatened to give way at any moment.

He wasn't a warrior. He had never dreamt of facing such a monstrous creature, let alone fighting it. Yet, he knew he wouldn't go down without a fight.

The Phantom launched itself forward, a blur of claws and teeth. Ash, fueled by a desperate hope, raised the sword with a ragged battle cry. It was a pitiful sound, hoarse and barely audible, yet it echoed through the clearing.