Tearing a bloody route through the battlefield, Broding followed his beastly opponent step for step. He launched blow after calculated blow, however, having lost the advantage of surprise, none hit. Dodging and weaving, the Seeker evaded the blade, fully knowing that blocking the blow would be folly. The strength of a blow was irrelevant if it did not hit, but Broding followed his opponent backwards. No Gung would interrupt the battle, instead avoiding the showdown and cheering. The Iron Men occasionally got in the way, but Broding simply swept them aside, their shields and swords shattering before the power of his Dragonclaw. Despite it's appearance, it was not a brittle weapon. Having been forged from the bones of a dragon, it was almost as hard as steel. With Broding's immense physical power behind each swipe, it was like the blade of Amun himself, tearing through flesh, bone and iron alike as if they were but parchment.

Eventually, after dodging swipe after swipe, the Seeker dashed forward. A clawed foot landed on the flat end of the Dragonclaw. Jumping forward, the beast sliced along the side of his arm, evading the strike from the side. It was not a deep cut, thick layers of knotted muscle and fiber were almost impossible to slice through, but enough to draw blood. Invigorated by this, the Seeker once more sliced in, too close to swing Dragonclaw properly, but instead of knocking him away, Broding simply watched the red blade slice for his neck.

Red blood dripped along the blade, onto the floor.

Muscles tensed, Broding held the bladed tonfa in his left, free hand. The sharpened iron bit deep into the flesh, but the giant didn't even wince, as if pain didn't apply. He was hardened to such thing, his pain threshold inhuman. Even as his blood hit the floor, Broding's own grin grew. Teeth caked in dried blood from the hearts he had devoured, eyes burning. In those eyes, the death of demons could be seen, the will and strength of mind to kill even the very Gods. A true Warrior, who would fight till the dying breath, regardless of pain. Regardless of loss. Regardless of mercy. In those eyes, Strygwyr could read his own death written out for him, as he realized that nothing but the killing blow would kill the Gutra.

Dropping Dragonclaw, which had occupied his right hand, Broding ignored the small cuts the beast made to his torso and left arm. No serious damage was dealt, as the Seeker was unable to put any force behind the blow without his feet on the ground. A mangy dog haging in the air, Strygwyrr would witness the massive obsidian fist draw back, muscles tensed and coiled. The entire massive, muscled body shifted as, blurring through the air, the fist smashed into the Seeker, who was left incapable of dodging to the side of this blow. Any normal human's neck and spine would have been shattered by the force of the blow, as the Seeker crashed into the castle wall with a loud crack. However, even for one augmented by service to the Spirits of Slaughter, it was like getting hit by the charge of a Plains Drake. Ribs were cracked and bruised, as the now bloody giant slowly walked towards Strygwyrr.