Vision

I did not hold anything back, and nor did the four-armed beast.

Every ounce of strength, I had pumped wholeheartedly into my strike. Hate, loathe, anger...Everything.

And the beast had done the same, filling its fists with all the strength it could exert.

Both of our strikes spoke of our will. One holding a tone of finality.

The beast’s, was one of unquestionable superiority. A strike worthy of a king, smashing down his scepter to smite the challenger off of his icy throne. But whether or not it perceived me as a weaker foe did not matter. The beasts do not drown in vain conceit, and thus there is no need for arrogance and the slight of underestimation. Every attack is meant to destroy. To dismember. To kill.

But I was no mere challenger, and nor was my strike.

Kings, Peasants, Emperors, Monarchs... None of that mattered. All that mattered is my triumph.

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