Sol didn't give him a single microsecond to breathe.
The moment his blade bounced off the cleaver, he spun his body, his left fist driving forward like a stone battering ram straight toward his ribs.
Malphas, his pupils dilated in pure survival panic, violently twisted his massive torso to the side.
The punch missed his heart, but it slammed hard into his thick shoulder, the kinetic force fracturing his heavy leather shoulder-guards and tearing the muscle beneath.
He let out a sharp, ragged gasp of pain, but his Layer 4 reflexes held and he didn't completely freeze.
Using the momentum of his stumble, he swung his cleaver in a wild, desperate horizontal arc aimed at Sol's neck, utilizing every ounce of his burning life force to force a trade.
Sol didn't even flinch at the incoming weapon.
His silver-crimson eyes were fixed entirely on the grotesque trophy resting on the giant's head, the fire in his chest burning hotter with every passing heartbeat.
