Soren's left arm stretched.
Clap.
The sound echoed. Unfortunately, the technique—capable of shattering bones—was unable to defend against the attack, but by some stroke of luck, the 'Clap' had been just enough to slightly change the trajectory of the attack.
It missed the direct strike to his chest but brushed against his right shoulder instead.
Crack.
That brush dislocated his shoulder and burnt some flesh in the process.
Sausage Neck hadn't expected to miss. His momentum carried him forward, overcommitted.
Pain shot like a jolt through Soren's arm, but this was not his first fight. After thousands, he had learned.
Opportunities were rare.
He hooked a leg behind Sausage Neck's ankle and twisted.
The big man staggered forward—once, twice.
Too much momentum. Poor balance.
But the attack didn't lose its force.
Boom
It smashedinto a person.
More precisely—it smashed into the metal helmet of the one man every prisoner avoided.
