The short blade collided with the deathly silent long-handled scythe, the clash of sharpened edges producing a shriek that almost deafened the ears.
Corax was so fast he was nearly impossible to track. Mortarion's vision was filled with swathes of black-gray blur. He knew what they were—the afterimages left by Corax as he swung his weapon.
The weapon that had turned Baru straight to ash the moment he looked directly at it was wrapped within them, unremarkable in appearance, but a blade still in its sheath was the most dangerous of all.
The Lord of Death gritted his teeth and roared, strength pouring through both arms as the scythe suddenly spun. With a dangerous whirling stroke, he forced the Lord of the Ravens to put distance between them. Corax gave a laugh, the sound scattering into the air.
Controlling distance was the essence of close combat. He could not give Corax another chance to get near him. Mortarion began swinging the scythe wildly, and the multicolored wings on his back started giving off a scent that was at once repulsive and alluring. It was not his intent, but those wings were instinctively trying to help him win.
"Sorcery."
Corax stood where he was and judged coldly. "You still rely on it, as weakly as you relied on biochemical weapons to win your wars, Mortarion. You should be better than this. Don't disappoint me."
"What do you think you are? Disappoint you?"
Mortarion shot back, showing not the slightest weakness in words. "After I hook your heart out with my scythe, you can stare up at the sky and tell yourself that again."
"We shall see."
The words fell, and the air screamed.
Mortarion's clouded eyes were instantly filled once more with blurred gray-black colors.
The thick Creep and the plants