Kazimir slid to a sudden stop, whirling to his right, with his bare hand leading. With an animalistic shout, the Russian backhanded the beam of energy while Tatiana’s bullet tore into his shoulder. No ordinary punch, the reiryoku coiling through his hand engulfed the beam of energy, overwhelmed it, sent it careening straight back at the machine it came from.
He wasn’t finished there, however.
Long legs straining, the Russian leaped and ran back along the beam’s path, nearly a blur as he jumped high over the robot before the desperate shot exploded. Eyes wild, Kazimir brought the blade in front of him, point downward. The red tip sliced in just below Rune’s collarbone, rending the mechanist’s flesh and shearing through bone. The blade shoved downward, cracking a shoulder-blade before sinking into the ground underneath.
Kazimir was breathing heavily, his skin pale as blood soaked most of his form. Some of it pulsed but most just dribbled lazily down to the ground. Sweat rolled down his face, his long white hair drenched in it, along with blood, oil, and hydraulic fluid.
With a grunt, Kazimir slammed a foot into his blade right above the boy’s chest while yanking back on the pommel. With a loud metallic snap, the tip of the blade was broken off, left embedded in Rune and the ground beneath him. Kazimir turned around, stumbling before catching his balance.
“It is time no more,” the Russian muttered, his normally-clear Japanese becoming choppy. His head was hanging weakly, dirtied bangs shrouding his face, except for that grin. He staggered a step forward, grinning wildly as his broken sword scraped along the concrete behind him.
Blood liberally covered the battlefield: Rune’s, Tokiwa’s, and mostly, Kazimir’s. More blood than could ever fill a single human body had been spilled, but even the Russian’s supply did not appear limitless. With his reiatsu continuing to pulse erratically -- at times as strong as a Vasto Lorde, at others weak as a kitten, and every grade of strength in between – it was impossible to tell just how drained he actually was. The pulses of red light and reiatsu were gradually slowing, however, becoming heavy, dull. Each pulse came slower, with longer gaps in between.
“Chance of victory no more,” he muttered, following with a shuddering laugh.
For long moment there was no pulse at all. The sword in his hand dulled to black and stayed that way.
Then there was a heavy thump, not just a sound but a physical force felt in the chest of all those around. Red light pulsed – not just from the sword or the blood painted on Kazimir’s body. Every speck of blood in sight flashed with bright red light. The pulses began slow but began speeding up. As they did, the Russian also regained his stride.
Blood flowed across the ground, sucked in toward the pool at Kazimir’s feet: whose blood didn’t matter, every speck of flashing pulsing crimson rushed along the ground, drawn inexorably toward the growing mass of plasma. Blood curled in streams, reaching through the air to coil back in through his wounds, filling his body with life and energy. His pallor warmed, his muscles flexed. Wounds did not heal but not a drop of blood spilled from them. No, instead, blood erupted from them, hardening in jagged spikes and serrated ridges, every burn and cut and bullet hole a new weapon adorning his body.
Still more blood churned at his feet. Like a river, it flooded up his body, down the length of his sword, repairing the broken tip, with still more clinging and dripping from the edges.
Kazimir’s muscles tightened and then he scythed the sword through the air in a broad arc. Blood flew from the blade, splatters and crescents and droplets that hardened into blades and flew straight toward Caleb and Tatiana.
[640/2750]
