Berserker

Most fighters get worse as the wounds stack up — slower, less focused, more desperate. The berserker runs in the opposite direction. Something in the pain sharpens them, the smell of their own blood cutting through whatever passed for restraint before the fight started. By the time they're truly hurt, they're also truly dangerous — swinging harder, holding on longer, refusing to go down through what seems less like willpower and more like something older and angrier that doesn't know how to stop.

No finesse. No flourish. The greataxe comes around in a wide, committed arc — the kind of swing that doesn't leave much room for a follow-up if it misses, and doesn't need one if it doesn't. The berserker isn't trying to outthink you. They're trying to put the axe through you, and they've got enough strength behind it that the plan doesn't need to be more complicated than that.