A well aimed attack scratched the side of your upper arm, causing it to bleed slightly. Cross smirked as he saw the damage he’d done, and continued to strike. He hated you, considering you his worst enemy. His only goal was to kill you, and end the fight between you two.

He was gaining an advantage, his swings only getting closer and closer towards you, his sharp blade ready to deliver another wound, perhaps a much more fatal one.