I couldn’t see clearly anymore.

The world was now a blurred, violent stain of color and pain. My ribs ached. My legs wouldn’t hold me up. Blood stained my lips. Every breath tasted like rust and dirt.

But I was still fighting.

Still swinging, even if blindly.

My stick had snapped long ago. My arms were bruised, scraped raw. My head throbbed so hard I thought it might split open like a coconut.

As for the masked man, he was still standing.

Still smirking. Still speaking with that eerie voice.

“You’re being too aggressive,” he said, voice rising above the pounding in my ears. “As usual, My Mistress . Always...