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Tenga, the Brawler


Thick ribbons of blood splattered on the ground as he ripped his arm away from his opponent's abdomen, leaving behind shards of bony shrapnel in their gut. His assailant let out a gurgled grunt before collapsing onto the ground.

Tenga, the Brawler, had sustained much more damage than he had given this fight, but that only spurred him on. There were five demons still standing, slowly closing in around him like a pack of hungry heathfiends. This was more than a power dispute between clans. This was personal. a grudge-hunt.

Tenga spat to the side, more blood than saliva. With a deep breath, he channeled his energy into his hands and forearms, urging out new spikes of bone. As they tore through his skin, he relished the pain as his own flesh was mutilated to produce his signature weapon - the porcupine fist.

The stench of desperation grew amongst the remaining demons as they readied their next assault. Tenga knew there was a good chance he wouldn't make it out of this alive, but he didn't care. With every strike, he would leave a piece of himself in his opponent. And the more damage he sustained, the more his soul would ignite, increasing the savage weight behind each strike until Tenga drew his last breath.

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