Fractured God

Tibaut could usually tell when Ezekiel was going to drag a table nearby due to subtle movements he'd make or even the man being bare-faced enough to take a step back, (Though he'd usually suffer a nick somewhere on his body for dodging the table regardless) but it now seemed, his lack of speed had given him a better idea. Screw being careful, get Tibaut with everything left in the tank. Even worse was now the furniture was being flung at faster speeds than before.

But after the punch, Tibaut got close enough to him to land a counter hit, though the table punch combo did leave his punch with a lot more oomph to be desired.

Ezekiel however, wasn't going to take a step back. He smashed Tibaut's face with another blow and dragged a chair behind him.

(“You think the same tricks gonna work twice you fucker?”) Tibaut thought as he heard another piece of furniture move from behind. They usually moved quietly thanks to Ezekiel’s magic but now that Tibaut's range had expanded, there was a solid meter or so he could hear it rub against the wooden floor.

He quickly twisted to the side but it wasn't enough, the back of the chair hit part of his back, and as a result, it spun the chair around with the legs slamming into Ezekiel.

He tried to stop it with his magic out of instinct before realising his mistake. He looked up into another lighter-than-usual punch from Tibaut. It seemed the battle had already taken its toll on the boy.

While this was a battle for survival, Tibaut couldn't help but instinctively hold back against Ezekiel. If it were any other opponent he'd be killing himself, consequences be damned, trying to kill them. But how…how could he bring himself to fight with that same vigour against a man he had been trying to avenge for several months now? One of the very first persons he met in his new life.

(“Fuck!”) He cursed in his mind as he felt his wounds slowly take hold of him. He never realised how much his hatred of his opponent had mattered in keeping him in a fight.

The two men had gotten back into neutral positions and were throwing blows at each other with Tibaut overpowering Ezekiel, yet he knew in the back of his mind this wouldn't last for long. He soon heard a chair get into his range and readied himself to avoid it but it never came and all he got was Ezekiel's fist burying itself deep into his side.

He managed to block the following attack aimed for his head but-

“You asshole! (How'd he hit exactly where I got stabbed?)” Tibaut shouted with gritted teeth. It was a miracle they were all still in one piece after he had been forced to bite down on them so many times before.

He heard another piece of furniture behind, this time a table. He guessed Ezekiel was putting them inside the range but not actually hitting Tibaut. How was he going to…

He noticed something strange. Was it really the sound of the furniture that gave away any piece of furniture that was going to hit him? And how did he intuit so fast that Ezekiel had thrown a chair at him? Also, for all of Ezekiel’s punches, while they did hit, it wasn't as if they caught Tibaut off guard, he was prepared for each one. What was going on? Was he imagining it?

He trusted his instincts and jumped over the table, turning it into a jump kick off Ezekiel.

And he was right, Ezekiel blocked the high kick, but the table caught him off guard. With such a prime opportunity, Tibaut got somewhat greedy and formed a fire lance, and he realised something. It was created much faster than usual. He shot it off, leaving a new burn mark on Ezekiel’s torso. But he also realised he couldn't anticipate a chair coming from behind, that stuck him at max speed.

(“What's going on?”) He wondered as Ezekiel moved closer. The moment he attacked, he felt as if he could intuit the path of Ezekiel’s punch without seeing it directly, again with that strange feeling coming back.

(“Seriously, what's going on!?”) He wondered. This was strange. He wondered if this was the ki Elizabeth talked about but this wasn't anything like he could recall.

He could also tell there was a table coming to sandwich him from behind and threaded the needle, jumping between it and Ezekiel’s fist, with another table slamming into the man dressed in black before him.

He tried to form a smaller-than-average fireball and it was created faster than expected but before he could launch it, a counterkick from Ezekiel caught him unaware.

(“I-is… is it my mana doing this!?”)

The bastard Ezekiel landed a roundhouse that nearly sent Tibaut to the floor and he had to throw the fireball to the floor as a smokescreen.

Ezekiel thought nothing of it and threw a few more chairs at him before throwing an axe kick into the smoke that was countered with a strike to his exposed crotch.

(“It is!”)

For some reason, when Tibaut surrounded himself in his mana, he could, for lack of a better word, feel when things were being touched by his mana. Plus, now that he thought about it, it made sense he could create a fireball quicker. He was taking advantage of his already expended mana to do so. Was this always the case or did he stumble upon this? Regardless this was no time to make use of this fact. Being able to “feel” around him was far more important against Ezekiel than his magic.

Ezekiel shrugged off the assault on his prized gems, though he was screaming in pain internally, and brought out a table from behind that Tibaut managed to dodge by rolling over it.