The conjured foes are falling one by one to Tony and Akito, but for every one that goes down, another two spring up in its place...though they may notice the ninjas and aliens are getting easier to defeat with wave after wave. There are more Makluans than ninjas now, the larger and more intimidating aliens sacrificing speed for size and power.
The battle is brutal and prolonged, less of a fight than an assault; the only offensive moves Gene makes are still meant as defense, to drive his mother back and give himself some room to maneuver. Even though they are in the Dreaming, Gene can't hold off forever. Maybe it's because he doesn't want to. Maybe it's because he's just tired, too tired, too ill from being confronted with Malicant wearing the skin of his mother to properly fight back. Tony at least has seen him fight - and defeat - bigger enemies with nothing more than an unfamiliar sword, and he should be able to tell that this is not Gene's usual style at all, that he's trying to make himself smaller and harder to hit rather than aggressively and acrobatically striking out at his foe. Though Malicant's splinter no longer bears the face of Zhang, there's something of Gene's interactions with Zhang in his movements, the tension, the defensiveness. He hears Tony's shout, but doesn't have time to think about it right now. Examining what he said will come later. For now, there's only this, only battle.
The discordant ringing of steel on steel echoes through the caverns, Malicant still pressing onwards, trying to back Gene into a wall, and Gene doggedly dodging and blocking each strike. The fight looks fluid, almost choreographed, two experts dancing around each other.
It's only a matter of time before one of them slips.
And Gene's arm is the one that tires first.
"You were never my son," she hisses at him, striking again and again, battering his thinner blade down as he tries to keep up his guard. "You are a pretender. You are a failure. You are not fit to be the Mandarin."
He raises the jian again, but the furious slashes knock it down even faster. She takes a step forward; he takes a step back, and stumbles on a piece of rubble knocked down from the earlier fight, tired, dizzy, demoralized.
As he stands upright, trying to raise his sword to block again, her own sword comes down and bites into his flesh, cutting him crosswise from shoulder to hip.
He crumples bleeding to the ground without even a cry, the jian still clutched in his hand, his own heartbeat betraying him and pumping out his life's blood onto the cavern floor. The wound has cut deep, almost to his heart. In the Dreaming, mortal wounds aren't necessarily mortal, but despite the Gha'nal venom coursing through his waking veins, the power of this splinter of Malicant is too strong for him. His spirit is nearly broken, and with it, his will to rise.
He's dying. He's dying, and he doesn't have much time.
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The battle is brutal and prolonged, less of a fight than an assault; the only offensive moves Gene makes are still meant as defense, to drive his mother back and give himself some room to maneuver. Even though they are in the Dreaming, Gene can't hold off forever. Maybe it's because he doesn't want to. Maybe it's because he's just tired, too tired, too ill from being confronted with Malicant wearing the skin of his mother to properly fight back. Tony at least has seen him fight - and defeat - bigger enemies with nothing more than an unfamiliar sword, and he should be able to tell that this is not Gene's usual style at all, that he's trying to make himself smaller and harder to hit rather than aggressively and acrobatically striking out at his foe. Though Malicant's splinter no longer bears the face of Zhang, there's something of Gene's interactions with Zhang in his movements, the tension, the defensiveness. He hears Tony's shout, but doesn't have time to think about it right now. Examining what he said will come later. For now, there's only this, only battle.
The discordant ringing of steel on steel echoes through the caverns, Malicant still pressing onwards, trying to back Gene into a wall, and Gene doggedly dodging and blocking each strike. The fight looks fluid, almost choreographed, two experts dancing around each other.
It's only a matter of time before one of them slips.
And Gene's arm is the one that tires first.
"You were never my son," she hisses at him, striking again and again, battering his thinner blade down as he tries to keep up his guard. "You are a pretender. You are a failure. You are not fit to be the Mandarin."
He raises the jian again, but the furious slashes knock it down even faster. She takes a step forward; he takes a step back, and stumbles on a piece of rubble knocked down from the earlier fight, tired, dizzy, demoralized.
As he stands upright, trying to raise his sword to block again, her own sword comes down and bites into his flesh, cutting him crosswise from shoulder to hip.
He crumples bleeding to the ground without even a cry, the jian still clutched in his hand, his own heartbeat betraying him and pumping out his life's blood onto the cavern floor. The wound has cut deep, almost to his heart. In the Dreaming, mortal wounds aren't necessarily mortal, but despite the Gha'nal venom coursing through his waking veins, the power of this splinter of Malicant is too strong for him. His spirit is nearly broken, and with it, his will to rise.
He's dying. He's dying, and he doesn't have much time.