The battle became fiercer, the two sides showing signs of extensive training.
He furrowed his brows. The Garsans were fierce, but their style was one dimensional, their use of fire not versatile and controlled, only serving as an aid.
The worst place on the battlefield, however, was where the one with a third eye red in color was, surrounded by others engaged in their own fights.
That red eyes Garsan was fighting a whitish alien of three meters tall, 20 centimeters more than her, and who held a door sized shield with one hand, the other holding what could be called a cleaver.
His movements were refined for slaughter, showing a pleasing aesthetic despite the lack of pursuit of beauty. He deftly parried the strikes of fire and dished back blows just as savage. His coordination was remarkable.
As for the slim Garsan he was facing, she was dancing between the strikes, her use of fire more adept.
