Leveling up

Jacob was on the battlefield, ripping his blade back out from the skull of an enemy he had just gouged the eye and brains out of, when he felt a surge of energy rushing through his veins like electricity. He felt as though he was on fire, and the world around him was slowing to a crawl, other fighters striking at each other in slow motion. He was frozen in place, but he could watch the others movements, able to pinpoint  the weakness of each motion and how best to counter them, stopping their attacks and beating them into dust.

The burn shot from his nerves directly into his muscles. He felt convulsions running through him, his muscles spasming and threatening to tear away the skin that was confining them, but there was nothing he could do about it. He hulked over in pain, gripping at his sides, trying to hold it all back, to force it down into his system so he could regain control of himself. The pain was intense, but at the center of it all was an urge to strike forward. He felt confined above the pain, and that irritated him to no end. He wanted to get back to the fight. He wanted to beat in faces.

It wasn't until he saw someone approaching that he was finally able to lurch forward. His legs kicked down hard against the ground, launching him forward faster and farther than they had only moments ago. The soreness of battle was gone, replaced with a burning need to strike. His foe had only seen a man, doubled over in pain, barely able to stand - an easy target, and one with a strong sword worth taking. But that sword was now punching straight through the armor on his chest, through his own body, and out the back.

Jacob crashed onto the man's chest and forced him into the ground, killing him before he could even feel his skull cracking on the rock where he landed. He had new strength. New speed. Something inside of him that he had never felt before, but that needed to come out, or it would tear him apart from the inside out.

He searched the field for more soon to be corpses. He stood up quickly, tearing the sword out from the ragged metal it was embedded in like he was pulling a toothpick out from a wet napkin. His muscles were bulging, begging to be pushed to new limits, and he was more than willing to accomodate. He rushed the field with a new vigor, and he only hoped that his sword could last as long as he could.