Shroomsworth grumbled aloud, leaning away from the tree and supporting most of his weight upon his tail once more. “I’ve bloody had it with your deals and... you! I’ve had it with you, you child-murdering scoundrel!” the Breloom shouted, whipping one of his claws out toward Slasher, who was able to swing below the branch quickly even in his relaxed state, still hanging on by his paws.

“Whoa there. Child-murderer, huh? You’ve got it all wrong, tea-drinker,” Slasher dubiously corrected, “I gave ‘em a chance to fight back. They just couldn’t, heh.” As another punch came his way, he used what momentum he had to swing right over Shroomsworth’s head, landing behind him. With an almost playful kick from behind, he sent the wounded Breloom falling forward onto the ground.

Quickly, Shroomsworth rolled himself over onto his back, looking up at Slasher angrily. He was being toyed with. “You’re sick! How dare you use them as disposable pawns!” As he attempted to quickly pull himself to his feet, he paused with sudden fear. Slasher’s clawed foot abruptly settled atop his wounded leg, right upon the spot that pained him so.

“They love workin’ for me, or they’d do somethin’ else. Not my fault if they’re too weak to surpass me when the time comes. Speakin’ of times comin’, what about yours?” Slasher asked with a widening grin, beginning to apply more and more pressure upon Shroomsworth’s leg.

The pain. Worse than perhaps anything he had gone through before, and it kept getting worse and worse. “Agh..! You’re... truly so indifferent to what you’ve done?! You are a blight upon us all!” Shroomsworth exclaimed, whipping his claw out yet again, despite the danger his target currently posed to his well-being.

With a loud clack, his claw met Slasher’s in an intersecting grasp, shakily forcing against one another. Slasher’s calm, playful demeanor faded as he had to put some effort into holding the Breloom’s claw back, instead gritting his teeth and growling. The other came in kind, forcing him to contend with Shroomsworth’s strength with both of his claws.

He was making headway. Even from the ground, Shroomsworth was overpowering the Weavile with his outstretched arms, putting everything he had into doing so. He could feel the gang leader’s weaker muscles beginning to buckle, but his foot would not budge from where it was.

This proved to be the worst thing that could happen.

With a loud, desperate growl, Slasher began pressing his weight down further while he still had his footing. “Just... stay down..!” he commanded under his breath, and with a heavy stomp, there was an outright snap along the curve of the Breloom’s leg.

Everything seemed to pause for a moment. Shroomsworth’s eyes widened with the shock of the sudden, sharp pain the likes of which he’d never felt before. The first he’d ever felt that made him scream in pain, especially with the pressure continuing afterwards. He almost felt like he’d pass out.

But he couldn’t. He was operating purely off of adrenaline at this point. Never did his grasp relent on Slasher’s claws.

Slasher grinned and taunted all he felt like at this point, feeling as though he won. His foot was still mashing down on Shroomsworth’s broken leg, causing him constant, immense pain. “I’ve been thinkin’. You got a real nice gig goin’ with that guild, and that girl. How ‘bout I fill in once you’re gone, show ‘er some real ‘business’, y’know?”

His thoughts weren’t exactly clear even to himself in this state of mind. He heard those words, and his grip tightened. There was no playing nice with this guy anymore. Not one bloody bit. Not even as the Weavile screamed in pain as well, due to the fact that Shroomsworth just bent his claws enough to break them at the knuckles, filling the air with a sickening crunch.

Before he knew it, he had used his long arms to toss the pained Weavile to the ground on his back, immediately rolling atop him and pinning him down. The pain was nothing. The constant specks of snow raining down upon his back were nothing. He felt blind to such things right now.

“How does this strike you for business, ‘y’know’?!” Shroomsworth asked in a tone he’d never heard himself use before. A low, angered tone, as though it channeled the very essence of his most vengeful thoughts, right before he struck Slasher as hard as he could.

Then again. Then again. Repeatedly, his fists would alternate, crashing his blunt knuckles upon either side of the vile fiend’s face. He deserved every single one, and then some. They marred his visage, chipped his teeth in an onslaught of scarcely-targeted blows. There was no calculation, careful planning, or any art to it. It was simply a vicious beating.

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Fourth excerpt from Ch3 of Resignation by