"Ah man! I didn't wish to hurt a sword tonight." Armin sighed regretfully, a genuine hint of sadness in his voice, even as the monstrous maw of the enemy's blade rushed toward him.
But that moment of casual regret vanished instantly.
An immense pressure, a palpable, suffocating bloodlust, descended from Armin.
His longsword began to vibrate violently, not with lightning or visible energy, but with an invisible, concentrated aura gathering at the blade's edge, an energy that felt terrifyingly absolute.
The figure's huge eyes opened wide in utter shock. He felt an ominous certainty, as if he were about to lose something infinitely precious to him—not just his life, but the very weapon that defined him.
In the nick of time, just before Armin's vibrating sword could make contact with his splitting blade, he pulled back.
With a desperate, choked cry, the veins on his arms bulged like cords as he exerted every ounce of strength to retract his weapon.
BOOM! CRASH!
