human
Garfiel:  His head was hot, and his mind was ablaze, but a chill coursed through his veins, and he felt like he was gradually freezing over.
gpt
Garfiel:  “—Rghaaa!” He gritted his teeth and slammed his fists together ferociously, willing his sluggish blood to start moving again. Skillfully using the silver steel covering his arms, he shield-bashed his enemy’s thick arm, the impact shattering the stone pavement below them.
human
Garfiel:  That attack contained every scrap of strength he could muster, and he could feel a powerful reverberation shooting through his shoulder, but there was no indication that it had been a decisive blow. If anything, victory seemed to be getting further and further away with every move he made.
gpt
Garfiel:  The enormous, black-robed inhuman figure before Garfiel was unmoved. Its eight arms were moving wildly, absorbing his attacks, deflecting them, and delivering their own destructive counters with a practiced precision optimized for killing. Garfiel’s cheeks, chest, and legs were all battered, bleeding, or both. He desperately tried to hold his ground even as his thoughts threatened to scatter from the pain and impact of each blow. He knew his opponent’s four swords were a complete offensive and defensive package—they were the famed set called the Devil Cleavers, the legendary blades wielded by the ultimate god of war. And Garfiel’s opponent was using those famed weapons like an extension of its body.
human
Garfiel:  No, not like an extension. For a warrior who had true mastery and enough experience, a weapon really could become a part of the body. —In which case, based on how this mysterious warrior was using the Devil Cleavers, then maybe—
gpt
Garfiel:  “—Gah? !” A solid punch connected with Garfiel’s jaw, taking advantage of an opening right as his thoughts had started to wander.
human
Garfiel:  “Bh, gh…aaaa!” His bones groaned, and his vision started going red. The punch had rattled his brain, draining the strength from his knees for an instant. But that brief moment of vulnerability was more than enough to be lethal in mortal combat. And the war god who had once claimed to be the strongest in the land would not miss that moment. Each following its own path, all four swords raced toward a different vital point. The head, the neck, the chest, the waist—if any of these swings connected, Garfiel would die or, at the very least, be unable to keep fighting. And at the moment, he could do nothing to drive back the specter of death fast approaching.
gpt
Garfiel:  Gritting his teeth, he looked around his reddening world, searching for any way out. And as he desperately clung to life, a phantom came into view, as if amused by his impending doom. A woman in a black robe with a crimson smile was peering down at him in his unsightly state.
human
Woman:  “—Eyes up, numbskull!” A roar rang out, followed closely by the sound of steel clashing and the dull thud of something biting into flesh.