Zerakon's movements were effortless and swift as he swirled in the air, a vertical slash appearing inches away from Atticus' head.
Atticus had been able to catch everything, from Zerakon's transformation to the vertical slash he unleashed at his head.
They all seemed slow to him, but Atticus' body couldn't react to the abrupt change in time.
He had immediately stopped his momentum, already predicting the strike, but Atticus only had enough time to move his head away from the trajectory of the attack.
The razor-sharp bone-like scythe protruding out of Zekaron's wrist slashed down Atticus's left shoulder down to his chest, leaving a nasty gash.
A fountain of crimson blood gushed out of the wound, splattering on the earth, followed by an unimaginable amount of pain.
