The Guardian (4)
"Fuck!" Alex shouted as his hand fell close to his feet. Bogath didn't mind the maiming and kept pressing against the white dogman. His eyes bulging red, the orc was close to entering bloodlust, proving that it didn't depend only on grave wounds but also on heavy emotions.
Like a boxer, the monster easily dodged Bogath's movements from one side to the other. The monster's armor shone brighter with each move in the Arcanite light it had produced before. Bogath was a whirlwind of movements, and Alex couldn't bring himself to move. The hormones in his blood make him unable to react.
Move, stupid! He yelled at his own brain, forcing himself to breathe. He repeated the breathing technique and felt the Arcanite light washing his body with power, and his brain became clear again. Take the dagger, drink the blood, kill the monster, and your hand will grow again. He mused while crouching fast to grab the blade.