He might as well have been cutting through butter, the ease with which the knives cut through clothes, flesh, and muscle. One long slash across his chest, the other a stab to his side. The fact that it went deep enough only to catch at his hip-bone could only be a deliberate reprieve.

That should have been the end of it - after all, in combat conditions, it was clear just who the only survivor would be. But the order to stop didn't come. So he didn't stop, even as he was entirely aware of the fact that this battle had just become a losing one. Maybe they wanted to see just how long he could last when wounded. Maybe they just wanted to test his opponent's obedience. It didn't matter. He hadn't been told to stop, so he fought.

He twisted, instead, enough to fling some of his own blood up into the man's eyes. It was followed immediately by moving in close for a headbutt. Unfortunately, his priority in doing so was to stun the man long enough to free his wrist, which took priority over inflicting damage. He would try to retreat a few paces, if successful - maybe his opponent's advantage would make him overconfident enough to close instead.

There were a great many things he could do in this situation, he knew, but none were likely to make up the difference between them at this point.]