Broly vs Abraia [Planet Forum Spar] Complete

The flickering firelight upon the scene painted colors of orange and black. Suddenly and brutally, they came at them, chaos erupting like a spark set to dry grass. From Broly’s left, a soldier launched into the firelight, his sword plunging into the back of an enemy who wasn’t paying attention. The man cried out in a strangled voice and fell forward, dead before he hit the ground. Battle cries of the rest of the squad mixed with the shocked shouts of their enemies.

With purpose, Broly moved, sword already out, the familiar weight an extension of his body. He leapt forward, pounding his boots into the hard-packed earth, the firelight reflecting on the steel in his hands.
His first opponent showed alarm as he saw Broly’s blade cut through the air so quickly. He jumped back, but a few more steps later, the steel bit deep into his ribs, slicing through meat and bone with brutal efficiency. His weapon clattered from his hand as he crumpled to the ground, and Broly stepped over him without breaking stride. Every movement was fluid and precise, every strike designed to expend the least amount of energy with the greatest lethal outcome.

An axe was raised high by another marauder rushing at him. The swing was wild, and when Broly met it, he did so with a sharp upward parry. His arm strained under the blow, but he twisted his wrist and deflected the axe wide. Stepping into his opponent, his blade found an opening in the man’s armor where he seemed to have forgotten to protect himself. Broly thrust his sword into his chest, the point emerging clean through his back. Blood bubbled from the marauder’s lips as he gasped and slumped against Broly before being shoved off the blade.

The storm of chaos swirled around him. Through the crackle of the central fire, the marauders rose to fight for their lives, screaming and shouting in return. Broly’s senses, sharpened by years of battle, caught glimpses of steel and the firelight reflecting off bloodied blades.

Another attacker came at him, his strike brutal and relentless, swinging in arcs strong enough to shatter bone. The weapon buzzed by Broly's head, missing by less than an inch. He slipped under the first swing, pivoted on his heel, and sidestepped the second strike as his cloak flared into the air behind him. Broly flashed his blade out, slicing across his foe’s forearm. The man bellowed in pain, his grip faltering, and Broly followed up with a clean thrust to his throat. The sword tip punched through muscle and windpipe, silencing the marauder mid-roar.

The tide of battle shifted about him. The enemy began forming small clusters to mount a defense. Three of them gathered near a stack of crates on the camp’s edge, and Broly’s sharp gaze picked out one who already had a bow strung and trained on his comrades.

“Bowman!” Broly’s voice sliced through the chaos despite his rank. He couldn’t give orders, but he couldn’t hesitate - lives were at stake.

At his warning, two soldiers turned, shields raised, as the bowman loosed his arrow. The shaft struck one shield with a solid thunk, the impact shuddering down the soldier’s arm. The second soldier charged, beating his shield into the bowman’s chest before the marauder could notch another arrow. The marauder staggered back, the force sending him into the crates, and the soldier finished him with a decisive strike.

Broly turned back to the fray, seeking his next target. Suddenly, a polearm slammed into his back. He turned just in time to deflect the follow-up thrust. The blow numbed his arm, but he twisted his body, using his momentum to wrench the spear aside. His sword cut through the marauder’s side, and the man dropped, gurgling, as Broly moved on without a glance.

Drawn to the far side of the camp by a roar, Broly spotted a hulking brute with a two-handed sword cutting a swath through Imperial ranks. Intelligence had spoken of this one as one of the biggest threats in the camp. Soldiers scrambled to avoid the brute’s heavy blows, knowing one misstep would mean death.

Broly pushed through the melee until he stood face-to-face with the man.

His enemy spat, raising his massive blade. “Another Imperial dog. Come on, then!”

Broly didn’t waste breath on words. His body glowed with supernatural power as he enhanced his strength and speed across his whole body. It didn’t take long for him to lunge for his midsection. The force of the impact jarred his arms when the brute parried. He cut Broly off with a sweeping slash that Broly ducked under, feeling the wind of the blade as it passed over his head.



Strength wasn’t everything, but the brute was definitely strong. When Broly pressed the attack, his movements were calculated and precise. His sword bit at the man’s arms and legs, darting in and out of reach. He was too quick, and the brute roared in frustration, swinging wildly.



The brute overextended at last, his massive blade slamming into the ground just before Broly’s blade struck. Stumbling back, he clutched at the wound Broly caused in his chest as his eyes widened in shock. Broly didn’t hesitate. A second thrust ended it.



The large man’s death broke their morale. Others ran into the dark, to be cut down by soldiers waiting in the shadows. They dropped their weapons, and the rest surrendered with trembling hands. For a minute, Broly caught his breath, leaning on his sword. The camp was a scene of devastation around him. The fire crackled, uncaring of the carnage, and bodies littered the ground.

“Secure the prisoners!” his leader barked. “Check for wounded!”

The soldiers moved quickly but carefully. Some men started to tie up the trembling marauders who had surrendered, while others hunted through the wreckage for any sign of life among the fallen. Straightening, his sword hanging limp at his side, Broly looked around, searching for a quiet place where he could get just a moment to himself. One of the prisoners was the leader of the camp, the one in charge of leaking information from the Empire. Broly recognized him from the intelligence reports as an ex-soldier.

Sheathing his blade, Broly slowly stalked toward a log, each step heavier than the last. He rested on the log and sat, leaning forward, his arms resting on his knees. He stared at his hands, still smeared with blood - some his own, most not - and they trembled slightly.

In his mind’s eye, the fight replayed itself. It was vivid, unrelenting. He thought of the marauders' wild desperation in their eyes, the sickening crunch of steel meeting flesh, the gurgled cries of men whose lives he had taken. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried to will his heart to steady its race.
Even after all these years, it was never easy. The mind, however, was different. Every battle left its scar, a deep wound in his psyche.

Those wounds would never truly heal, Broly wasn’t sure. He thought of the big man he had killed. The brute’s strength was undeniable, but his final moments stuck with Broly. It wasn’t guilt he felt; it was a deep weariness. Every life taken was another weight he had to bear.

A soldier approached their leader, hesitated, and spoke. “We’ve got the prisoners secured and we’re collecting the weapons.”