Snippet #2665846

The kick had worked, however this meant Boff's minions would flock over to him to give their boss a moment to breath. Jaek reacted to each of the five who had been brave enough to come after him. Sidestepping, dodging, parrying, riposting, punching, kicking, slicing, stabbing. The Frostarian was not without cuts, scratches, and bruises. His kind were strong, especially adept at combat, but not invincible. What normally would have been glancing blows to his armor instead fell upon flesh and blood.

Years of living in the wilderness of the Fringelands accompanied by an almost as equal amount of time spent honing his skills began to take over his body's movements along with the Bellum Sanguis, the traditional Frostarian name for the hormone composition exclusive to his kind that consisted of a mix of adrenaline, testosterone (for males), and a few other hormones.

With its wide reach, Jaek managed to catch two of the gangsters in the abdomen with Mortem. As they cried in pain and clutched their stomachs, he whirled around and delivered a kick to the shield of another, sending them skittering to the floor. A satyr with a sickle-like weapon advanced upon him quickly, using his speed and short stature to no doubt attempt to cut the backs of the Frost Giant's knees. With a frantic block with his obsidian blade, he quickly shifted his feet and swung the light blade with relative ease and severed the faun's legs at the knee from his body. The Nephilim made quick work of the remaining criminal.

Boff had had enough time to catch his breath. It was time to pour it on. For such a "sophisticated" species, the combat tendencies of many Frostarians seemed to pay an odd homage to the beasts that roam the earth. Perhaps it was the primal man within.

Jaek let out a roar, one of pure carnality, like that of a lion letting the surrounding savanna know he was king, and made for the Minotaur once more. With blinding speed he was upon his former employer, black blade dripping red, ready to strike.