Warm blood gushed out of his eye socket and drenched his face before silver threads began to heal him.
He gritted his teeth and thrust his spear towards its core, but just like before, his aura faltered under the might of purple miasma, and the kareth struck his chest with its bestial front leg.
THWACK! Fwoosh!
He was sent flying once again; however, this time, there were no trees to slow him down, so he dug his spear into the ground and slid a few steps before coming to a stop.
He looked at the kareth with his bloodied face and finally understood why it wasn't attacking him.
The answer was simple:
It had no reason to go to the flies to kill them; it could just wait for them to reach him, and then kill them before they even knew that they had died, and right now, Rion was such a fly.
An immortal fly, but a fly nonetheless.
