The sword nicked against his opponents face, even if slightly it was pleasing. Blood drew a crimson splatter against the edge of his sword, his lips curled until the moment when the rod was placed against the weapon, his opponent dipped backward further than he expected, which cause teeter. He hoped to use the swords dig into Molotov’s face for balance. The block was unexpected, but the sword struck the rod briefly of course before the squire pulled the weapon across the surface continuing with the motions of the swing.
Upper torso bending diagonally forwards as he completed his turn then stepped back and to the right slightly. The kick felt nothing but air but the ice was somewhat unexpected, grazing against his own cheek. Pain and prickling cold feeling bubbled to the surface but that didn't prevent, his eyes from shifting over to where the blond combatant and the halberdier followed through with the dance of death. While he himself did do battle with the water machinist or so he assumed from the previous displays. But for the moment his attention was pulled away, forced into combat with one such as this it would prove troublesome if he broke away to save one who could obviously take care of themselves.
“No bloody second strike for you, this is almost over, and I’m just going to laugh soon. Your girlie’s almost dead, then my friend will be coming… what are you going to do then sod? Run? Cry?”
He snapped his eyes back towards the cloaked figure that obstructed his attacks. Arsenic wasn’t flustered; it was a playful jab something he had to become use to. For to make an attack in anger was to attack blindly and allow your opponent the upper hand, so Arsenic only smiled. He already established that the woman like the others in this cage would die, or be gravely wounded so he had made a sort of peace with himself. Even though the thought of someone in pain did cause him sigh. He composed himself before he readied his sword again.
So he decided at that moment to play this word game.
“I don’t plan to do either, and if she dies then she fought to the end.”
As he spoke he noticed his cheek had lost some feeling. But pushed forward regardless, and thought nothing of it, his weapon held out from his side, eyes narrowed on his target. He spun, dropping into a squat before bringing his weapon cross towards Molotov’s shins. So that if the blade missed he was able strike the middle of his opponents body by rising into the air, starting just above the pelvic area and ended at his face. The momentum that was put into the spin strike; was carried to the strike so even if it was blocked his opponents body was left open.