Darno was faring far better than he had expected with his newly changed body, and the realization that his bones would not shatter under Jett's grip gave him a special kind of confidence, one he had never possessed before. It was not arrogance, nor was it recklessness. It was certainty. The kind that allowed him to fight without holding anything back.
Jett swung again, a heavy arm cutting through the air with enough force to snap ribs if it landed cleanly. Darno moved exactly as his training dictated. His feet stayed planted. His stance remained solid. His forearms came up at just the right angle, and with a sharp, controlled motion, he knocked the strike away at the wrist.
At the same time, his other hand shot forward.
Thud.
His fist slammed into Jett's chest, right over the sternum, the impact producing a dull, echoing sound that reverberated through the hall. It wasn't flashy. It wasn't dramatic. But it was effective.
Again and again, Darno repeated the same pattern.
