Sylas ripped at his chest again, and again. He sank into more wildness, more unbridled madness and chaos. His Demonic Will suddenly began to spill out, and what he couldn't sense before became clearer and clearer.
This wasn't Mixed Martial Arts. It was Mixed Demonic Arts.
By its very nature, it was gruesome and violent, relentless and fearless. It sank into his most depraved and oppressive self, the self that wanted to rip his enemies to shreds, to instinctually understand said enemies to their baser levels until there was nothing remaining of them outside the ash pile he had left them in.
Never once had Sylas allowed this aspect of Mixed Demonic Arts to shine. He always suppressed his Demonic Will, and he lived life so clearly to his own whims that the number of times he had had to deal with a Demonic Will flare-up could be counted on just two fingers alone.
