Chapter 144:
Dust roared underfoot. Every strike carried a hurricane of sound: whish! of air slicing past, thunk! of impact, crack! of bone and debris.
Jim's fists moved faster than the eye could follow, but Yung Mai's counters weren't just defensive—they were a dance, a deadly choreography of limbs and momentum, all while the tips of his white robe traced slicing arcs that carried the force of a gale.
Jim tried to spin away, but Yung Mai anticipated it. His right leg launched like a catapult, catching Jim mid-twist and sending him slamming through a wooden platform.
Dust erupted into the air, choking, blinding, as splinters rained down.
Jim rolled, only to be up almost instantly, his movements frantic but less precise. Sweat, blood, and dust coated him like armor.
Yung Mai exhaled, a calm in the storm.
He moved with invisible intention, his arms sweeping, legs snapping, every movement creating gusts that sent debris and leaves spiraling.
