Vicente spat out a tooth and returned by hitting the hand holding the instrument which had struck him. Two of Francisco’s fingers were bent into an unnatural position form the blow, but he was able to hold onto his club with by tightening his grasp with the remaining digits, deflecting the next blow.
Francisco could feel that his battered ribs were now submerged. He grabbed Vicente’s arm as the other raised for another strike. He tightly grasped the shattered elbow, causing Vicente to scream in pain. Francisco took the opportunity to bludgeon him with a hard blow to the head. There was a spatter of blood as raised his weapon and struck again. His club was stuck momentarily in Vicente’s skull as he tried to raise it. He dislodged it and struck another blow.
Vicente’s eyes stared unblinking as his body went limp and sunk into the mire. Francisco smiled as his viscous surrounding enveloped his head. He had won. His brother was dead.