The Cursed Wanderer had not remained rattled for long. In fact, his shock only lasted a split second — then, he coldly pulled his cutlass away and moved forward, aiming to slip past the Mist Blade. He was so fast that time seemed to slow down to a crawl, with wisps of mist suspended in the air and unmoving.
Of course, Jet was just as fast.
…Almost.
She retreated at the same pace as he advanced, coldly calculating the odds. The shaft of her war scythe was long, so if she could just keep him at an optimal distance, the advantage would be hers. Conversely, if the sinister apparition got too close, she would die.
So, there was no way that she would allow him to move past the blade of her scythe.
'It is a bit funny, really…'
Here she was, fighting an edritch horror in the heart of an eternal hell. And yet, the same principles that she had learned during her clumsy training spars at the Academy could still decide the outcome of this fight.
