The best way to describe the way Isaac’s movements was not a waltz of steel, but a frenzy of steel. No longer was he confined by precise motion and automated reflexes, it was just him and his sorrowful fury.

The man of shadow was a bit taken back, as Isaac wildly flung his massive blade is a flurry of pain. One of the furious blows hit straight across the shadow garbed man’s hooded face, to which he let out a loud grunt.

The hood of the man was sliced open, and Isaac caught a glimpse of what lay underneath. Nothing.

No face, no shadow, it seemed as if the only thing that existed was the clothing of the man. Maybe it was, but Isaac was not in the inquisitive mood at the moment, and his only perception was the next swing, the next chance for that sweet life he could never have.

The black garbed man, laughed, and might have come back with another snarky comment, but Isaac could only hear the sounds of the drum of war, beating within his head forever.

He could tell one thing for sure, he would fight.