Then Ludwig moved first again.
This time, he did not simply swing once and hope stubbornness would become victory. His body moved before the answer came to him, while his mind clawed through everything he had seen. Nightbreaker rose and fell, Noctivex dragged his giant frame forward, Wrath burned red across the ice, and Pride kept his limbs from sinking into the suffocating drag of Sloth's authority. His hands fought. His head worked.
The first strike failed like the others.
The second did too.
Nightbreaker came from the side, then from above, then in a brutal thrust meant to drive the mace's cruel protrusions through Sloth's chest. Each time, the same invisible rejection answered. The closer the weapon came to Sloth's skin, the more the blow decayed. Force weakened. Intent dulled. Momentum bled out. The mace, which had broken monsters, stone, ice, and old nightmare alike, became useless in the last inch.
Ludwig changed tools.
