One hand comes out of his pocket. I think he still needs a lesson before he takes the other one out.
I glance at Rose, nod, and acknowledge her signal as she pivots behind him, preparing to release a shot with her bow.
I focus all my attention on him. I take a stance of my own making—raw, unrefined—and this time I keep my eyes open.
I strike first. He does not move at all. I drive the blow toward his head, twist my body, and slam him into the ground.
Loki shows no reaction except anger. I close my eyes and immediately create distance as he rises.
"Weak!" he says. SLASH—his leg whips toward my chest. I block it, bracing against the fast, powerful strike.
From chest to head—my sight still cannot find an opening, so I can only defend. I deflect the strike to my head, barely keeping up with his speed, again.
I try another small trick.
"Crazy fighter," I say. "I think you are the one who truly deserves that title."
"Noisy!" He lunges—I twist—heart-line, CLASH—and slip past it.
"There!" That is it. The opening finally appears.
His attacking leg, the gap in his body. I drop into his stance—the stance he is about to take. He freezes.
Ribs first—SWASH—I kick hard, but I am a fraction of a second too slow.
"Bastard." Loki blocks it. "You turn my technique into an insult."
Loki mirrors the technique I just used. He comes for my ribs.
From fury to revulsion in a single breath,
SWASH—a heavy, lightning-fast kick. I catch it, but the impact still rattles through my guard.
Defense after defense. Strike only when there is a gap. I step back a few paces and set my stance again.
Rose moves to the rear. The moment his attention slips, she will loose an arrow—and in that same breath, I will take him down.
Rose appears behind him, drawing her bow. I rush in. But—
SPLASH—the arrow streaks toward the back of his head. Does he not notice, or does he?
I launch myself at him, my focus locked on his form. Just before the arrow reaches his skull, he moves—
My sight, his speed. I cannot avoid it. If only I could push my vision farther—
He dodges, then kicks Rose's bow out of its path and straight toward me. My focus snaps from him to Rose.
"ROSE! RUN!" I shout.
The bow slams into my stomach. He sprints toward Rose. She freezes.
He leaps in front of her. Rose draws another arrow—there is not enough time. His foot crashes into her, and she drops instantly.
"HIRO!" Her voice rings out as she falls.
Loki turns back to me. I walk toward him, snapping the bow in my hands. It takes more strength than I want to spend—strength I should be saving for the end.
"Oh, I thought we were done. That technique again?" he says.
I use it again. It is not my choice—my sight leads me.
"Didn't I tell you?" He charges. I remain still. He leaps. "That your technique—" He sets his stance in midair, the same one he used to strike Rose.
His foot is a breath away from my face.
"Crude and—"
Before he hits, BLASH—I drive my fist straight into his heart-line, turning his strike into the ground.
Silence. I think the blow finally lands. He collapses. Is it over?
Loki's head lifts.
"Fun," he says. "I feel it now." He stands before me. "Entertain me. Again." A crooked smile cuts across his face.
"I thought you underestimated me," I reply. "As if I were not on your level. I will prove it now, Crazy Fighter."
I use his stance—the very stance he is about to take—again.
Finally, his other hand comes out of his pocket.
Loki sneers. "Bastard…"
SWASH—heart. I drive a sweeping kick through, fast and crushing, stronger than his strongest strike.
Loki is thrown briefly into the air. In that same instant, his heart stutters.
He crashes down in front of me. His expression changes in a blink.
From revulsion to astonishment in a third breath.
"What—" He pushes himself up slowly, blood slipping from the corner of his mouth.
"How is this possible, damn it…" Loki uses the stance I just used. I do not move an inch. I already know the line of his attack—and its impact.
SLASH—he kicks toward my heart. I have already stepped aside. For a split second, I catch his face—completely changed, fear laced with something like old trauma.
"Fast does not mean strong," I say. After I evade, his openings are everywhere.
Loki shifts his footing, lifts a leg, and reaches for my head to smash me into the ground.
I use another man's stance—Paragon's. Loki freezes for a heartbeat. That is my opening.
I go for his leg, break his balance, then drive toward his face. I end this now.
BLASH—I smash into his leg, just as hard as Paragon once did. Loki staggers. He throws up an arm, sealing the gap.
Even so, I try—CLASH—not a clean hit to the face. I strike the arm in front of him and slam him into the ground.
"Huff." I breathe out heavily. Extremely heavily.
I think my sight is beginning to run wild.
But there is always a price. Blood trickles from my nose, my chest burns, and my insides feel as though they will not hold if this fight does not end soon.
His fists clench. He stands again. But that fear—I will not dwell on it—
Loki's face changes again, into something else.
"Truly insane," I murmur, dropping into a defensive stance.
"Like you said, fast does not mean stronger. But—" Loki says, then cuts himself off.
"Hm?" I murmur.
"What about very fast, bastard?" he continues.
"Makes no difference, asshole," I reply.
"Oh yeah?" he says. "Let's see."
My body will not hold much longer. I will not let this end the same way—it will end with honor.
This time, without exceptions like before.
His expression shifts after the fear.
He targets my legs. I dodge. I am exhausted—my vision has truly narrowed. He changes his attack toward my ribs.
I block it, almost too late. I would have gone down if I had taken that hit.
Desperation—that is what I read in his face. Yet the impact of his strikes changes, becoming faster, far faster.