I lunged forward, every muscle screaming in protest, but I felt no pain thanks to Pain Resistance. Hand-to-Hand Combat guided my strikes as I threw everything I had at Hugo—Jab, Hook, combinations flowing into each other with desperate intensity.
Hugo blocked most of it, but not all. A few hits landed—glancing blows against his ribs, his shoulder. Nothing devastating, but proof that I could touch him. That he wasn't completely untouchable.
"Better," Hugo said, almost conversationally, as he deflected another strike. "You're angry now. Focused. Using that rage instead of drowning in it."
I didn't respond. Just kept attacking. Precision Strikes targeting weak points. Observation helping me read his defensive patterns.
But it wasn't enough. For every hit I landed, he landed three. His movements were too efficient, too perfect. Like fighting a machine that had calculated every possible response. At the rate that we were fighting...I'd lose in less than 10 minutes.
