Zerakon's movements were effortless and swift as he swirled in the air, a vertical slash appearing inches away from Atticus' head.
Atticus had been able to catch everything, from Zerakon's transformation to the vertical slash he unleashed at his head.
They all seemed slow to him, but Atticus' body couldn't react to the abrupt change in time.
He had immediately stopped his momentum, already predicting the strike, but Atticus only had enough time to move his head away from the trajectory of the attack.
The razor-sharp bone-like scythe protruding out of Zekaron's wrist slashed down Atticus's left shoulder down to his chest, leaving a nasty gash.
A fountain of crimson blood gushed out of the wound, splattering on the earth, followed by an unimaginable amount of pain.
Atticus instantly gritted his teeth hard, his hand clenched as he pushed down the pain deep inside him and darted backwards, attempting to put some distance between the both of them, but Zerakon was no fool.
While he was completely confident about his strength, he knew well enough that Atticus shouldn't be left alone. This human had surprised him more than once today.
Plus, it wasn't the warrior's way, never hold back in battle and fight with all you got, this was the warrior's way, a way ingrained into his bones from childhood.
With long bone-like scythes protruding out of each of his limbs, Zerakon moved.
His form blurred with speed, his every movement swift and weightless, seemingly as though he were carving the air, leaving behind a trail of slicing whispers.
He appeared in front of the retreating Atticus, his form spinning as he unleashed a series of slashes that threatened to split Atticus' form into multiple pieces.
Atticus swallowed hard, ignoring the blood gushing out of the nasty gash on his chest. He forced his body to move as he tried to evade the devastating attacks coming from every elevation.
He barely managed to avoid the attacks, three long gashes appearing on his arm, torso, and leg.
But Zerakon had no intention of relenting; his speed suddenly doubled, his form blurring as he closed in on Atticus once more, a multitude of air-splitting slashes heading towards Atticus.
Both their figures moved at fast speed around the forest, Atticus' whole being completely focused on evading each of the lethal attacks.
Trees were cut into pieces as though they were twigs, and the gashes on Atticus' form kept on intensifying.
Despite the fact that Atticus was still able to easily catch each of Zerakon's movements, his body was unable to react to his swift and erratic attacks.
After a few moments, the inevitable happened; Atticus' movements suddenly started getting sluggish as the blood loss began settling in.
At this point, Atticus' gaze was wide open, his whole mind focused on staying lucid. His breathing was haggard, vision completely fizzy, his whole form filled with deep cuts and crimson blood gushing out of each of them.
No one among the Ravenstein youth or even the White Omen's division would ever dream of seeing the white-haired monster in such a state. And the fact that an Advanced rank alien was the cause of this would've been even more baffling.
But here it was, happening in reality.
Atticus suddenly felt a sharp pain in his head, its intensity forcing him to immediately cease using his perception, an action he instantly regretted dearly.
Two deep horizontal gashes appeared in his chest, a fountain of blood spewing out of them. This was immediately followed by a bone-crushing punch that struck Atticus' bleeding torso with brutal intensity, sending his form shooting backward to collide with a sturdy tree.
Atticus's battered form landed on the earth with a large thud, spitting out a mouthful of blood.
His breathing was erratic, his whole form trembling as he tried to lift himself up. With the intense amount of wounds on his body, a small pool of blood had already formed around him.
Zekaron, who had been initially moving towards Atticus, suddenly stopped, a small smile appearing on his face.
The robotic voice sounded at the next instant, "Father was paranoid for no reason; you are all too weak," he scoffed, fixing his gaze on Atticus' battered figure.
"You don't have to worry; it would be a great honor for you to die by my hands. Taking your head would bring me great hono—"
His speech was abruptly interrupted by the sound of Atticus laughing.
It wasn't loud, nor did it sound like the laughter of a man who was on his last ropes. It sounded normal, as though the one laughing had suddenly heard the funniest thing in his life.
Zekaron was thoroughly baffled. Did he hit him in the head too hard?
Despite his intense pain, Atticus clenched his arms on the floor, his whole body shaking as he slowly stood up straight.
Zekaron couldn't help but frown as he saw Atticus' current actions. Even though he was laughing, the intensity and coldness in Atticus' gaze could freeze an ocean.
And this gaze was fixated on only one person, Zekaron.
There was not a single shred of hesitation, not a single shred of concern about the current situation.
Despite the fact that it had long since become obvious that Zekaron was more powerful than him, Atticus didn't seem to be worried.
Despite his completely battered form, his aura radiated dripped with confidence.
"What is this?" Zekaron was baffled, thoroughly baffled as he stared at this enigma that was Atticus.
Atticus finished laughing after a few seconds, releasing a deep exhale. This was a first.
It wasn't the first time he was beaten; quite the contrary, he had had his ass handed to him a lot of times. But this was the first time he was struggling so much against someone in his generation.
Despite his alien features, Atticus could discern that he was young, early twenties probably.
His power was being restricted, yes. But it was also true that he had a lot of advantages over his peers.
This was a first. Atticus couldn't say exactly how he felt; it was a completely weird feeling. He couldn't help but admit, he had been having it easy, very easy, especially with all his powers.
But now that his powers were being limited, he was feeling something he hadn't felt in a long time: desperation.
Even if he ended up in pieces, losing every single one of his limbs, he would win this fight.
Atticus suddenly grinned, his bloodied teeth in full display, and in an abrupt motion, Atticus moved.