[i]Zande was already in the midst of his next attack, right weapon swinging up over his head as he loomed in. Perhaps there was a certain method to his madness, all in all. He wound up for strikes of incredible force, taking irregular pauses betwixt each one to catch his opponents off guard. But there was more to it than that, a psychological factor. It was intimidation. Even if Zande himself didn't know it, his particular style conditioned opponents to fear the next blow, to wish for it to come all the more quickly that the dread anticipation be quenched. 

The muscles in the cannibal's right bicep twitched, and he leaned forwards sharply. Was he going to try and brain the knight over his shield? Not this time. It was a fake out to try and make Zachary lift his shield and obscure his own vision out of reflex, since it didn't pay to take chances with the lethal seven pound sparth axes. Every single move though, was a risk. Were the knight to raise his scutum, Zande would instead hurl himself bodily upon the shield with a maniacal scream, attempting to rugby tackle the man to the ground and pin him beneath his own defense. Zande would keep his left axe held near to guard against the possibility of the man attempting a sudden stab. 

If Zachary didn't fall for the feint, then Zande would bring his already raised right axe cocking as far back as it could reach before unleashing an explosive snort of fogged breath, swinging it down in a homing overhead chop with as much vigor as his untamed body could unleash, rippling legs uncoiling like steel torsion springs as the elevated emissary of terminal absolution slung forth in a flashing arc of white hot death. This one easily boasted enough blistering power to harshly dent in the shield with a resonating [b]*KERBLONGGGG*[/b], making the knight's knees literally sink a couple inches into the mud if he blocked the hit. This black dude's capacity for violence was no joke.[/i]