The SCU guard darted forward, thrusting out to stab Vincent in the chest. The air rang, Vincent flicking the blade away with his fingers before going for a jab of his own. Sparks flew as the guard used the lower half of the blade to parry. Vincent’s eyes weren’t on the fight. They were boring into the face of his opponent as he felt his blood rush.
‘I’ve waited most of my life to get out.’ Vincent reminded himself, deflecting a slash with the back of his armoured hand. The nerves that were part of that armour screamed, but he ignored it. He’d been through worse. Burnt, dismembered, skin been cut off without anaesthetic, electric shocks, drowning, removal of individual bones, nails and teeth ripped out, eyes gouged out. He recalled every bit of pain he’d been through since the day he’d been delivered to his torturers.
A scream cut the air. His own. A black fist struck out, hitting the guard in the shoulder. A glancing blow, but they were still sent reeling. Vincent’s claws flashed out, attempting to mar the guard’s back with a deep slash. Metal screeched against a metal-based shell and Vincent’s own attack was deflected by the guard’s black blade.
Vincent’s arms had been almost entirely by the natural armour and it was growing over the sleeves of his short, black t-shirt, enveloping it. Without looking down he knew that the wound he’d taken would also be growing the mass. It was, a portion of his lower left side covered by the many plates of chiton-like shell. He knew it was now growing across his face as his eye regenerated after being split open.
Putting his mind back on the fight, he grew more ferocious, slashing, stabbing and twisting offensively. Catching the guard off-guard, he landed a kick to their chest. They were launched back, striking the wall hard enough to dent it. There was a snarl on Vincent’s lips, exposing sharp teeth, all distinctly sharp and canine-like. He strode forward, glaring out of his intact eye. The other looked to be covered by the shell already and he could feel the regeneration almost done. His foot shot out again, intending to kick the guard in the face.
A whistle in the air, the sickening sound of a blade suddenly piercing flesh.
Vincent didn’t even seem to care that there was a sword blade sticking through the sole of his foot as he forced the sword and the guard’s hand down by his foot alone. His hand drew up, claws extended and ready. It shot forward a moment later, being caught by the guard’s free hand. The guard was clearly struggling, eyes wide behind their mask.
“Now you die.”
Vincent’s hiss was punctuated by a thud, his left hand shooting down to slam into the guard’s chest. The armour did little as it was pierced through, the guard’s heart impaled by the strike.
A horrified expression and savage mein met before the expression died away behind its mask, replaced by slack lifelessness.