Veric twists his wrist in the final fraction of a second.
He can't reduce the force or the impact—those are already committed to the swing—but he can reduce the cutting angle of the blade. He rotates the gladius so the flat of the steel meets the target instead of the edge.
The blade slams into Death's Lantern's ribs. He bends sideways at the moment of contact, pain visible on his face.
THUD.
The sound is low and dry. Almost the entire arena goes silent. Only the sharpest eyes caught what actually just happened.
The flat of the blade struck the ribs. Concussive impact, not a cut. A few cracked ribs at minimum, maybe a couple of broken ones.
The trouble comes immediately after.
Death's Lantern, realizing the strike didn't seriously wound him, drops his arm down. He traps Veric's blade between his body and his arm, locking it in an arm-bar grip on the steel.
Then he yanks. Hard.
