(I can't pretend that this will be much better in regards to action, I find it hard to imagine fighting in detail. But at the very least they can say this: Engar went down fighting..)
Rubbing blood away from his chin, Engar rose shakily from the ground with a strained grin that didn't reach his eyes. His arms shuddered up and down, fingers twitching and spasming as he bounced on the balls of his feet.
"Impressive little Scruffie, very good little Scruffie, pretending to be a man little Scruffie.."
Engar bounced closer as Scruffie watched him warily, not taking the bait.
"Scruffie not want to play?" Engar bounced closer, his head ****ed to one side, "Come out to play, Scruffie!" He jabbed his right fist forward, followed quickly by his left and then another right. Engar bounced backwards again, circling around him in a sporadic way that gave the mock boxing some sort of purpose.
Scruffie turned with him, hands still raised.
"Fight, fight, bark and bite.."
Engar was jumping up and down now, backwards and forwards, circling eraticly around Scruffie. He looked off the wall, his eyes glowed and his arms twisted.
"Pleased to meet me, Scruffie?" Engar jumped forwards as he had done so many times before, magma suddenly fountaining upwards on all sides and causing Scruffie to blink, "Want to guess my name?!" This time when Engar landed he kicked off the ground a second time and brought his head up into Scruffie's face with a crack and spurt of blood. Scruffie's hand hadn't even reached his bleeding nose before Engar recovered his balance and leapt hard into Scruffie's chest.
The two hit the ground hard, rolling over each other while still mercifully being near the center of the plateau. As the fire and magma boiled upwards Scruffie kicked out against the enraged bundle of bones and flesh that was Engar and managed to send him flipping backwards onto the ground.
To Scruffie's horror Engar was on his feet seconds later, apparantly ignoring the steady trickle of blood that was flowing from a split lip and the bruise that Scruffie's foot had inspired in Engar's eye. He stumbled slightly in his movements but that didn't slow him as he bore down on Scruffie in a kind of madness that left no survivors.
Scruffie ducked under Engar's grasping arms and came up underneath his chest, flipping him onto his back and taking a deep breath as he wiped yet more blood from his nose. The pain was all white noise for the moment, a part of the background that Scruffie didn't care about.
Engar himself didn't care about anything anymore, as his torn nails scrabbled against the hard white stone, wrenching himself to his feet against the mind numbing pain he could only think of one thing - destroying Scruffie. In truth the Engar that scrabbled to his feet and lunged at Scruffie, landing on his hands as Scruffie sidestepped out of the way and kicking out at the back of Scruffie's knee while still balanced on those hands - this was not the real Engar. Certainly not the man who had defeated Scruffie though the instincts for fighting were still there.
The dark one had taken Engar and, in the space that it takes the Future to move through the Present and into the Past, had broken him. In that space of time an eternity had passed for Engar, things had changed in his mind. Now he just wanted out and Scruffie was standing in the way. He'd kill himself and Scruffie if it meant getting out.
Scruffie rolled sideways as Engar's leg smashed down, the rock cracking minutely as his foot barely missed his head. Engar twisted and brought his other foot around in an arc that would have caught Scruffie in the ribs had he not rolled forwards and out of its way.
Stumbling, swaying, drunk with adreniline, Engar grabbed at Scruffie's shoulders and yanked him backwards onto the ground before digging his knee into Scruffie's stomach and sinking down to eye level.
"I'm going to murder you," he hissed, spraying blood onto Scruffie's already damp and sticky face, "you pathetic little roach. And there's not a damned thing you can do to stop me!"
"Wanna bet?!"
Scruffie was tired too, the fight was beginning to take its toll on the two of them, but he wasn't going to lose his soul no matter what Engar thought.
He brought his left knee up between Engar's two legs, a painful and probably illeagal move used by those who know that the rules were made up for and by people who had never had to fight for their lives. As Engar keeled forwards Scruffie slid to the left, caught Engar behind the head with his elbow and, very simply, smashed his head against the floor.
Half-stepping; half-stumbling - Scruffie got to his feet and backed away from the bloody mess that was Engar. Through the exhaustion, the blood, the pains that were beginning to make definate comments, he was sure he could hear a little voice telling him that Engar was far from finished.
"Mm thar throm thinithed Thruthie.." Slowly, arms shaking with unimaginable pain, Engar stood up and turned to face his opponent. It didn't even look like Engar anymore; one eye was swollen shut; his nose was flat and turning purple; his smile was broken and had many holes. And yet he was smiling, the pain had pushed what was left of Engar to the extent that he finally, very gently, snapped.
Nothing mattered any more, not the pain, not escape, not Scruffie and certainly not Engar. Winning was a matter of pride now, nothing more. He raised his bleeding hands up, his legs shifting slightly, and motioned for Scruffie to attack.
Having the space for it, Scruffie took a run up and kicked off the ground in a powerful jump kick meant to knock Engar off his feet. Instead Engar shifted one leg back and caught the feet with a grunt of pain, then heaved them upwards like a caber and allowed Scruffie to land reasonably gently on his feet.
Edging around Engar, Scruffie paused long enough to put Engar just slightly off guard, then dove in from the right with his fist flying forwards at an incredible rate. One hand swept around, using the minimum effort neccasary to misguide the blow while the other plummeted downwards to catch the left arm which had ideas of its own.
Scruffie used the seconds of confusion (which hand is which?!) to his advantage, smashing his head against Engar's again then kicking Engar away from himself. The kick and concussion sent Engar skittering backwards, dazed, so Scruffie pressed his advantage by stepping forwards and sweeping his right leg upwards in a quick attempt to cause damage. Engar though, relying more on instinct than anything else, stepped back from the kick and caught the foot in his hands, lifting it up as high as he could then pushing Scruffie to the extent that he landed on his back once again.
This wasn't going well, for either of them. Scruffie wasn't seriously injured yet, though getting tired through the effort he was putting in. Engar was not only being fuelled by adreniline, he had stopped caring to the extent that the incredible pain he was in didn't affect his thinking to any great degree. Of course the great injuries had impared his vision and slowed his movements, but in a fight the silver lining always hid a cloud.
Engar knew it, in some way. Scruffie could win, could use the injuries Engar had suffered against him, could leave him trapped down here forever. Engar also knew, deep down, that he didn't care about anything anymore. Nothing in life mattered. Nothing, that was, but this battle. Right here, right now Engar felt more alive than he had in what seemed like a lifetime.
And so he allowed Scruffie to get back on his feet, only half sure he would have been able to stop him, and waited for him to attack again. If there was a way out, a weak spot he could find then he would find it and use it. If the dark one had taught him anything, he had taught him patience.
(Well live or die, win or lose; I'm pretty damn proud of that one.)
