Max quickly lunged forward, sweeping his claw horizontally as he went. Sturm dodged the attack by tilting his head back as he had during their last fight. Without a second's hesitation, Max continued his attempts to rush down his adversary, stabbing and slashing repeatedly. Sturm narrowly avoided each subsequent strike, much to Max's frustration. Still, the boy was unrelenting as he kept the pressure on with his jagged claws.

"You gonna dodge all day?!" Max growled in between his attempts, "You've gotta fight back if you wanna-"

Max was cut off by the impact of Sturm's fist slamming into his left cheekbone. Launched back by the force of the blow, he skidded across the ground, kicking up grass along the way. To Sturm's surprise, Max turned back to face him, unfazed as pain radiated through the fist he had used in the attack. It was then that Sturm saw it- the many shattered pieces of a beige, bony plate covering the left side of the boy's fade. Max had protected himself by shielding the point of impact with the same calcium he used to forge his claws.

After cracking his neck, Max dashed forth once more, ready to attack. Sturm was quickly put back on the defensive by his opponent's aggression. Though he spotted several openings in Max's posture, the swordsman was unable to properly take advantage of them while unarmed. Without his blade, Sturm would be cursed to struggle through a one-sided fight. Perhaps that was the point in Scharf's lesson.

Suddenly, an idea popped into Sturm's head. Certainly, Max's supply of calcium was limited. Even if it was being actively produced by his body as the boy utilized his aberrance, the energy required to do so couldn't be infinite. If Max was forced to defend himself in such a manner repeatedly, his calcium would eventually be depleted. At least, that was Sturm's theory.

Capitalizing on a hasty swipe of Max's right claw, Sturm ducked down and struck him in the jaw with a closed fist. Again, Max stumbled, but the majority of the damage was absorbed by the calcium plate that had quickly formed across his chin. As the shield's broken pieces dropped to the ground, Sturm punched Max once more in the stomach. As expected, his attempt was once again blocked by a rough sheet of calcium beneath the boy's jacket. Max then undid his outer belt, allowing several broken chunks of the ossified barrier to fall out from under his shirt and pile on the ground beneath him.

"No matter how many times you hit me," explained Max confidently, "It's not gonna work, so you'd better just give up."

We'll see about that. Sturm thought to himself.

Max seemed eager to convince him that his attempts would be futile. Reading in between his words, Sturm took this as likely confirmation of his assumption. Indeed, if Max couldn't produce enough calcium to shield himself indefinitely, it would be in his best interest if Sturm surrendered. Still, Sturm couldn't deny that with every strike, the pain in his knuckles grew. At this rate, even if his plan was working, he'd break his hands before he got through Max's defenses.

Damn it... Sturm thought to himself as he dodged another swipe, If only there was a way to make him up use more calcium, faster.

Then the idea hit him. Perhaps there was a way to do just that. Defensive use of Max's aberrance used a small amount of calcium when compared to the blades anchored to his wrists. At over thirty centimeters long and at least five centimeters thick, the jagged spades likely required a fair amount of material to construct. The fact that Max seemed reluctant to use them as projectiles, despite having resorted to the technique numerous times previously, could be related to his usage of the armor plates. If Sturm could break off Max's claws, then it might be possible to deplete the boy's calcium stores at a much quicker rate.

Dropping down with his back toward the ground, Sturm avoided a thrusting jab from Max's right claw. Before he hit the grass, Sturm caught himself with his hands and, with every ounce of strength he could muster, kicked upward and into the still-extended weapon. The force of the blow cracked the base of the claw, dislodging the majority of the calcified structure and launching it high into the air. When it came down, it lodged firmly in the ground, point-down.

"You know I can just grow those back, buddy," said Max, quickly dropping the remainder of the severed claw from his wrist and allowing another to spring forth as if nothing had happened.

Feeling a slight pain in his chest, conflicting thoughts poured into Sturm's mind. Fighting an exceptional at their full strength while totally unarmed was pushing the boy to his limits. If he continued to strain himself, the potential risks could be catastrophic. Despite this, the swordsman refused to give up, as he'd almost certainly be inviting more negative comparisons between him and his father.

Refusing to be dissuaded, Sturm rushed at Max, grabbed the boy's arm, and delivered a powerful elbow strike to his wrist, breaking away the left claw just as he had the right. Visibly angered, Max jumped back to gain distance before replacing his lost weapon. This time, however, there was a clear delay. The blade sprouted noticeably slower, and Max began to breathe more heavily.

That's it, Sturm thought to himself, It's working.

"Yeah," Max spoke up suddenly, "I see that look in your eye... think you got me figured out, huh?"

Before Max could utter another word, a dull pain began to creep into Sturm's chest. The feeling grew more intense until he instinctively clutched his chest.

Max cocked his head in confusion. "Hey, what's up?" he asked with caution in his voice.

Sturm opened his mouth to respond but was unable to speak. The pain was worsening and it threatened to overtake his body. Eye narrowing suspiciously, Scharf knew something was wrong.

"I-if you're trying to make me drop my guard, it's not gonna work!" exclaimed Max.

Still, Sturm could say nothing. The familiarity of this sensation filled him with deep dread. Without a doubt, Sturm knew that he was experiencing a heart attack. He collapsed onto the grass, racked with pain and gasping for air. The figure of Max, standing over him, was burned into his sight as everything soon went dark.

The last words Sturm heard were the warped words of his captain shouting, "Don't just stand there, get him to the infirmary!" before all became quiet.

From Sturm's perspective, the darkness lasted for a matter of minutes at most. When he awoke, he found himself lying in the middle of the training field, right where he had fallen. He scrambled to his knees taking in the surroundings. It was night and not a star peered through the overhanging cloud cover, dimly illuminated by the moonlight. Max and the others were nowhere to be found.