"Heh, heh, heh. Big words."
Prince's laughter squeezed out from beneath his head armor, low and hoarse, with the muffled rumble of a beast's throat.
The shattered carapace on his chest was still slowly repairing itself. Traces of silver light lingered in the cracks, hindering the growth of new armor, but he had already straightened up. His scorpion tail coiled behind him, its venom sac swollen once more, its stinger glinting coldly in the midday sun.
"You couldn't even keep up with my attacks. How are you going to catch me? With that broken sword? Or that scrap of iron behind you?"
Before the words had left his mouth, he launched himself forward.
The explosive power of his beastman form crushed the gravel beneath his feet. His dark figure traced a straight line across the scorched sand.
His right pincer slashed at Barlow's face, his left swept toward Barlow's waist, and his scorpion tail struck from above. Three attacks at once—the same opening combination that had driven Barlow to the foot of the cliff.
Prince sneered between strikes. "You couldn't block it before. What makes you think you can—"
Barlow shifted half a step left.
Prince's right pincer was still in midair and his scorpion tail had only just begun to descend when Barlow made his move.
It was as though an invisible thread had tugged him aside early. The movement was small, but just enough. The right pincer grazed past his ear, the left cut through empty air inches behind his waist, and the stinger plunged into the sand three feet to the right of him.
All three attacks missed without even touching his clothes.
Prince's pupils contracted sharply.
He did not pause. He yanked his tail from the sand and swept it sideways, whipping the venom sac toward