Brutus braced himself, to little avail. As the battlefield sprayed bright green light, not much could be done but be flung yet again into the wall. And by now, a lesser man would have taken it as a sign from what gods may be to take the stupid exit and not return.
Fortunately, the Penultimate did well not to employ lesser men.
Brutus staggered, stumbled a bit, but when he rose, he seemed steady. and his sword was still bright and beautiful deadly red as before. Though, Brutus knew better than to return with the same tricks. As he had learned from many pained nights with the Penultimate, and Savior and his fellow servants, he must adapt or pay dearly.
That thought in mind, the sword began to tremble in his hands. It shook from tip to hilt, and slowly began to rotate. Brutus' rage its infernal battery, the sword now spun top speed like a warrior drill. Again, Brutus called on the Heart of Mars, and the sword's red aura coursed over him as well.
Round two will indeed start with a bang, Brutus thought coldly, as he took off yet again. Halfway, he lunged downward, leaned onto the sword, vaulted into an aerial front flip, and brought the sword down again to the ground. Hard.
Brutus watched with sinister mirth as the red of his rage radiated like some unholy shockwave, across the battlefield.
Any unfortunately foolish enough to remain in its wake would
regret it.
“…Judge not what a man has done, but judge what he could have done if he was a different bloke altogether. For art thou a leper? And a leper can changeth his spots…” --Rudy Wade, Misfits (Series 4, Episode 8)