He planted his feet. Raised his blade. And met the blow head-on. The impact was loud, sharp enough to echo between the trees, but Ethan didn't move.
The force hit his arms like a wave, but his stance held. His boots slid back a few inches. Nothing more.
And in that moment of connection, when beast and man were locked together in one raw line of strength, Ethan twisted.
Not wildly. But with a precision that would make any trained swordsman freeze for a second. It wasn't flashy. It wasn't fast.
But it cut deep where it needed to. He guided the strike behind the collarbone again, shifting the beast's weight off-center and forcing it to plant awkwardly with its left foreleg.
The creature stumbled. Not hard, but enough for Ethan to see it. That slight pause. That half-second where it didn't know how to recover cleanly.
That was all the signal he needed. The sword didn't go back into its guard. It moved again, just as the beast swung its tail wide in frustration.
