#bloodmaker

Sha Tenitar felt the sweat dripping down his back as he stared across the arena at his opponent. There were rumours going around that the Dreadgod Cultist was a long lost child of the Monarch Northstrider, and while Tentiar didn't think that was true, he could certainly understand where people were coming from.

The Redmoon stood over seven feet tall and was broader than a tree. Shaggy black hair obscured bloodthirsty eyes, and the cultist grinned as though already envisioning the taste of Tenitar's heart.

He shuddered and adjusted his grip on the Argent Mirror Blades he had claimed as his prize from the previous round. Northstrider made eye contact with them both and nodded for them to prepare.

The cultist began cycling his slaughter Madra in an enforcer technique. Tenitar had seen that technique in dream tablets of the first round, but no more. There was no doubt in his mind that he was going to lose here, but if he played his cards right, he could force the cultist to show more of his hand, and then someone else could take him down.

"Begin!" Northstrider called, and Tenitar imposed his blades against the crimson sword of his opponent. The clash of their blades was like an ocean falling on him. Never before had he faced such strength. Still he stood firm, for him to have any chance he could not afford to lose a single step.

His own enforced limbs saw counter attacks raining down against his foe. Nothing made it through his opponents defense, but that wasnt the point. All he had to do was keep his footing, and keep the fight from drifting around the arena. Like a mantra, the thought repeated in his head as he fought with everything his enforced body could handle.

His channels screamed as he continued to flood them with madra. Fighting like this was antithetical to his path, but his path wouldn't serve him here. If he disengaged to use striker techniques he would lose his only opportunity. Seconds dragged for an eternity on as blades met blade and blade met flesh. Tenitar grunted in pain with each cut that opened in his flesh, but held firm. He had to hold. He had to hold.

A strike split open his calf, and he stumbled, cursing himself for his weakness. There was no time left to fight. Before the Cultist could finish him off, he triggered the binding in his swords.

Reflections of every strike he had made during the bout flashed into existence, and the sacrifices he had made to keep his opponent pinned in place bore fruit. Gashes appeared across his body as hundreds of strikes landed simultaneously. Chunks of flesh and even an arm fell to the ground under the grisly malestrom.

Activating the Overlord level binding had taken nearly everything Tenitar had, but that didn't mean he was done. Lurching forward, he crossed his blades over the cultists neck, and with a flare of madra, severed his head from his shoulders.

Relief and ecstasy flooded his body. He had actually done it! He had made it to the top eight! He had... not dissolved into motes of white light.

He turned around and nearly retched at what he saw. Blood and madra, like a mass of squirming red tentacles, pulled at the various pieces of the cultist, drawing him back together. This—this wasn't a man. This was a nightmare—a demon. The now reconnected arm reached out to grab the matted hair of its owner, pulling it through the bloody mud to place it back on its body.

Tenitar stepped backwards in horror as the monster pulled itself to its feet and began stalking towards him. It opened its foul mouth as if to speak, but all that came out was more blood. He continued to back up until he hit a wall. A wall? They should be in the middle of the arena. He looked behind him and saw a perfect, blood red copy of his tormentor. The monster within the monster, a blood shadow unlike any he had ever seen.