Derinju caught his breath and leaned heavily on the wall, brandishing his sword in front of him to ward off his opponent. He was tired, sore, and running out of options. Michael had never seen or fought against a Cladeg, and that had bought him some time, but Michael was learning fast. He tried to calm himself down, letting the now warm, deadly metal of the Cladeg rest lightly in his hand. It was a wicked blade, shaped like a claw and sharpened like razors. It was held in the hand desired and used as an offensive weapon. His defense, the sword clutched in his other hand, was now tinged with red. He had gotten a few cuts into Michael, but it was nothing. Nothing compared to what it would take to defeat him.