Having swallowed the wolf, the beast faced Perlì and then sprang.
*You've earned it, you idiot. Don't shame Master Michel. With or without Sulla or any semblance of Bloombound power, you have the skill to learn this. Just focus on him.*
Saying this to himself in an attempt to lift his morale, Perlì dashed away to the right, narrowly avoiding the lunge.
His jump catapulted a cloud of ash into the air. Once it descended, its colossal paws lashing the earth with the impact of a man scrambling for a missing coin. It felt nothing but ash between its claws.
And then, explosively, a fiery agony emanated from its third tail.
Perlì, after diving low and quickly, had aimed for the bottom of one of the sword-sharp tails. His intention was simple: strike where the monster was least responsive, sever the tail, and acquire a better weapon.
Four swift, precise thrusts, propelled by desperation of survival, struck home at the base of the tail. Blood sprayed on his otherwise white, elegant blazer, staining it red. Then he bounced away.
*It shouldn't take long to tear your tail off.*
But the other two tails began lashing, reacting with quick, lethal blows to his movements.
Air whipped past him as they cut through the dust, so he hung back.
The third tail swayed half-torn, hanging horribly. Perlì hadn't severed it entirely, but the creature was clearly vulnerable.
The creature let out a scream of fury and intense agony. Perlì sprang back but was flung through the air by the creature's right paw, which swung back to hit him. He landed on the ground with a crash.
Pain exploded in his left shoulder. It was loose, searing pain radiating down his arm. The beast's slash opened a fresh, bloody wound across his chest, the warm trickle of blood dripping through his black dress shirt.
*FUCK, IT HURTS!*
Without any time to take a breath. The beast was already rushing at him a second time, black rage blur. Perlì stifled a scream, slapped his right hand over the open wound, and bounded to his feet, running.
*Shit. Shit! SHIT!*
A second leap, a second desperate weave. This was his lone strategy: stay out of range, wait patiently, and wait for the perfect moment to slice through that tail.
The animal, though, was not about to give him that chance. It attacked with its sword-tails again, this time with more intent.
The first tail came from the right and Perlì went to the left. The third tail came in from the left, but this time Perlì did not get out of the way. Instead of getting out of the way, he turned and used his right arm to hold up his already bent sword and parried the attack.
Grunting with the effort, he forced the titanic tail downward, stopping its momentum.
Adrenaline took over for a second, sharpening his instincts.
With only his right arm, he used the broken sword with what remained of strength. The blade bit deep, sawing through muscle and sinew.
And yet another attack. Another bestial bellow. It tried to use its second tail for a strike in the middle, but the painful pain of its two wounded tails ruined its coordination, and its attack dwindled.
The beast automatically pulled back its tails and retreated one step, tripping, gazing for a moment and a way to surprise Perlì.
*I've got the sword. Perfect, but I would like all three.*
Taking advantage of the beast's momentary confusion, Perlì threw his broken sword one meter to his left, making a distraction of the clatter. He then seized the beast's severed tail-sword—a dussack—its raw handle still lodged in the bloody stump.
The beast hesitated, confused. Those were not the sounds of retreating feet. Perlì had consciously stopped on the cast sword to mislead it.
A burst of anger and wounded pride, the beast yelped and blindly charged at the sound of the shattered sword, scratching wildly, hoping to catch something.
But by the time it heard Perlì's actual footsteps, closing the gap from another direction, it was already too late.
'Slash.'
A cat bound, and Perlì swung the freshly acquired dussack with a heavy sweep, cutting the second tail neatly in two. He moved back once again, not wanting to make the same error of staying too close.
*Two down. One left.*
The beast could not stand it anymore. The pain consumed its hideous brain, and befuddled by sheer, unadulterated rage, it charged Perlì. He was too late to escape this final, desperate attack. Desperate to get out of this instant disadvantage, he decided to roll the dice. He stood his ground, inviting the beast's attack.
Perlì advanced with his right foot, gripping his dussack in a defensive position. The beast, roaring its fury, meant to sweep him aside with its massive right paw, expecting its sheer brute force to shatter his resolve.
The beast struck. Perlì feigned to counter-swing, then shifted his weight and direction in a blur of an instant. In a blink, he leapt sharply to the left, dodging the first set of paws completely, then drove the dussack deep into the right leg of the creature's second and third set of legs with a full, wild swing.
The beast lurched, barely catching itself from falling, its final few limbs clinging on. In a final bid, it flailed its final sword-tail in a death-blow.
But Perlì parried again, this time turning the attack aside, and—
'Slash.'
The final tail fell.
The beast was no longer able to jump or run, it falls to the ground in pain and drags itself with his left raw. No more options, just as Perlì had thought he had none against it. But now, there was only one thing in his mind:
*I don't want to die like the other unfortunate victims that you killed.*
Perlì mounted the beast's wounded leg, scrambling up onto its massive, thrashing back. The beast shrieked and struggled, but its massive paws, those padded clubs of charge, were unable to reach him.
He drove the dussack again and again into its vulnerable flesh with his right arm.
Ten, maybe twenty savage blows, and the beast collapsed upon the ground, its body shaking with agony.
The fetid, flowering crown on its head was at last within reach. Perlì did not delay. He hurled himself, driving the dussack deep into its brain and yelled.
"NOW YOU ARE DONE FOR!"
The beasr whimpered and struggled, unable to comprehend what had struck it. Slowly, from tail to "flower," it dissolved into crimson ash that rose upwards, dispersing into the cold air, to the immobile moon still dominating the sun.
Perlì descended from the tumbling mass, landing safely upon the scorched ground. He knelt, his eyes fixed upon his dussack stained with blood.
His white trousers and jacket, so finely crafted, were now completely dyed red, and his black shirt was torn open, but such concerns got lost before the magnitude of what he had just achieved.
The adrenaline that had fueled his impossible fight receded like the tide.
He let go of the dussack, clutching his torn side, panting, his eyes bulging with pain and shock mixed together.
A soft whisper escaped his lips, hardly audible:
"...I did it? I really managed to kill that thing?"