Chapter 14. Duel (3)
I walked toward his broken and bruised body with a calm, deliberate stride, blood still trickling down the side of my face.
Casually, smugly, I wiped it off with my thumb—making sure to do it in that deliberately exaggerated way you'd see in movies. The kind that screamed, "Yes, I'm the overpowered villain in this story, and I know it."
'See that? That's how you wipe blood cool-ly,' I thought with a grin.
He was gritting his teeth, barely suppressing the pain racking his body. His limbs twitched. His breath came out in ragged gasps. But he didn't let it show on his face. Something admirable, I had to admit, though I'd never say it out loud.
As I took a few more steps, I stood over him—towering like a looming shadow of death. I hunched down, lowering myself just enough to stare into his bloodshot eyes. "Wanna quit?" I asked flatly, voice void of concern.
Instead of appreciating my generous offer, he did something far bolder—and infinitely dumber.
He spat in my face.
A thick glob of blood and spit landed right below my eye.
"Go die in a ditch," he hissed, his voice venomous. "I'd rather rot in hell than lose to the likes of you."
I tilted my head in amusement, and for a brief moment, I almost laughed. Any normal person might've asked why. Why fight so hard? Why cling to pride when your bones are shattered, your legs mangled beyond recognition?
But me? I didn't care.