Max stood panting, his eyes locked onto Darius. He was reeling from the confusion of the last exchange. He had managed to rip his leg out of Darius’s grip with a forceful twist, pulling back several feet to create a much-needed buffer. He needed to think, and he needed to do it fast.
I saw his hand reach out to punch me right in the middle of my spinning kick, Max analyzed, his heart hammering against his ribs. That’s why I abandoned the attack to block. But how was he able to grab my foot at the same time? That would have only been possible if he moved backward while appearing to move forward. Can this guy stretch his limbs? Is he some kind of superhuman?
"You seem greatly confused," Darius said, his voice dripping with condescension. He adjusted his trench coat, looking as if he hadn’t even broken a sweat. "But by the time you figure it out, it will be far too late!"
Darius charged forward again. Max steeled himself; he was sure he wasn’t imagining the strikes. He decided to switch tactics. Kicks were too risky against a man who could snatch them out of the air, so Max shifted into the heavy-hitting, compact fighting style he had learned from Na.
Max threw a lightning-fast fist toward the side of Darius’s head. Darius tilted his head, the wind of the punch whistling past his ear. Max pivoted, ready to drive a hook into the ribs, but suddenly a fist appeared in his vision, driving straight into his nose before his own strike could land.
It was a heavy, jarring hit that sent a spray of blood against the inside of his mask. Max gritted his teeth, refusing to go down. He saw a follow-up kick sweeping toward his waist, so he ducked low, letting the air of the strike pass over him. He surged upward, reaching out to grab Darius’s waist, hoping to transition into a grappling lock to neutralize the man’s reach.
Once again, the world seemed to glitch. A blow slammed into Max’s stomach with the force of a sledgehammer, lifting him clean off the floor.
In a desperate attempt to stay alive, Max used his remaining momentum to lash out with his foot. It caught Darius in the chest, pushing the boss back just enough for Max to break away and gasp for air.
Close distance, far distance, it doesn’t matter what I do, Max thought, his vision blurring. It seems like he’s able to get one up on me and beat me to every punch.
He didn’t have time to finish the thought. Darius was on him again, his arms moving in blurring arcs. Max avoided one strike, blocked another, but just as he prepared to counter, a sharp pain exploded in his ribs again.
Max tried to fight through the agony, pulling his knee up for a desperate strike. Darius caught the knee with one hand and shoved it aside. Then, before Max could reset his feet, Darius grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked his entire body downward. A massive knee rose to meet Max’s face.
CRACK.
The digital screen inside the helmet shattered. The impact damaged the internal HUD, and now Max was looking at a flickering, jagged mess of static and broken glass. He couldn’t see his opponent, let alone fight back. He had no choice.
Max reached up, unlatched the heavy helmet, and chucked it off to the side. It skidded across the deck of the ship, a piece of useless scrap.
"Oh?" Darius said, pausing as he looked at the face beneath the mask. "I was half-expecting to recognize you since you hid your identity so much, but I have no clue who you are. However, I have to admit... you look a lot younger than I expected."
Darius narrowed his eyes. "It makes me wonder. With how well you fight, are you really the leader of the Bloodline group? Or just their best hound?"
"I guess you’ll find out when we get off this ship!" Max shouted, his voice rasping.
He ran forward, putting every bit of speed he had left into his legs. He spun his body, feinting another high kick, but at the last second, he tucked his leg in and slid across the floor. He popped up beside Darius, driving his knee upward. It caught Darius square on the chin, a powerful, rattling strike that finally caused the boss’s head to snap back.
Wolf’s fighting style worked, Max noted, his hope returning. Unpredictable. Chaotic. I need to use this chance to push him back!
Max followed up with a barrage of punches, but his fists hit nothing but a solid guard. He tried to transition back into heavy hits, but as he moved in, he saw a lethal strike aiming for his eyes. He braced himself, pulling his guard up high, only to be punched squarely in the solar plexus instead.
He didn’t hurl forward, fearing a knee to the face, and was instead kicked away by a heavy, boot-clad foot. Max skidded back, gasping for breath, his chest burning.
"I think I’ve figured out what you’re doing... somehow, you’re incredibly good at feinting your hits," Max said, wiping blood from his lip. "Feint isn’t even the right word. It’s almost like if you just think the attack, I can see it coming. My body is reacting to strikes that aren’t even there."
Max looked at Darius’s hands, which were once again hanging loosely. "That’s why I keep getting hit. I’m defending against ghosts."
Darius began to smile, a slow, terrifying expression.
"I see. You’re perceptive," Darius claimed. "But even if you have figured it out, do you really think you can win? Knowing a trap is there doesn’t make you any less caught in it."
****
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