He was almost shocked at how easy it had been to get inside Oliver's guard. If nothing else, the boy's lack of a reaction to a man bearing down on his weapon was extraordinary. Even the hardest of veterans would flinch when death came looming so close, and yet Oliver stood still, meeting his gaze, but not moving.
It was not until the sword had just about made contact with his arms that he disappeared.
"What!?" Firyr gasped. He hadn't been able to follow it. One moment, he'd been about to bite straight through flesh, and the next, he was striking at nothing but empty air.
All of a sudden, an impact hit him hard in the side, rocking him up off his feet. Another followed it, this time lifting him off the ground entirely.
Firyr just barely managed to twist his neck around to see his attack before he fell. There was Oliver Patrick, as calm as ever, his arm extended, having just completed a vicious uppercut with his right hand, burying it just beneath Firyr's ribs.
