Oliver readies Motorhead while Animal Pact is practically on top of him.
"Come on, Oliver. Ascending strike. Launch him like a rocket to the moon." I push the command through the comm.
A target up high is a vulnerable target if you strike upward or after a clean evasion with a counterattack.
Oliver rotates his hammer. The head opens into flame like a comet drawn through the dust of the arena. But his legs look heavy. His posture is wrong. He executes the strike completely off-tempo, and the hammer passes a few inches past Animal Pact's jaw.
"No!" I can't keep the shout in.
But the bone blades that were aimed at Oliver's throat also miss, at the last possible second. Animal Pact jerks erratically, as if something has disrupted him mid-motion, and the bone blade only grazes Oliver's shoulder—opening a small lip of flesh and blood instead of taking the head.
