Chapter 9: Fight
As they closed in on the soldier, he also launched forward- straight at Ponytail dude. Ponytail reacted with excellent form, spreading his legs and lowering his center of gravity in a practiced stance. He aimed directly for the soldier’s midsection with a sharp, focused blow. But just as they were about to meet, the soldier twisted his body in a bizarre maneuver, narrowly dodging the attack. In one fluid motion, he used his momentum to pivot, catching Zephyr— who took the opportunity and had believed he was through— completely off guard.
This time, Zephyr couldn’t dodge in time. He managed only to raise his arms, squaring up in a defensive posture to block the incoming hit... but the blow never came.
Instead, the soldier spun again, pivoting with grace and skill, catching Zephyr’s side wide open.
WHAM!
"Urghh!" Zephyr yelped, pain bursting through his side as if he’d been hit by a boulder. His body bent slightly from the impact, staggering him backward several steps before he stumbled to the ground. The blow was heavy. Gritting his teeth, he picked himself back up, one hand instinctively gripping his injured side.
Pain flared along his ribs, radiating with each breath, but he braced himself, eyes locked on the soldier, more alert than before.
Ponytail provided him with some breathing room as he engaged the soldier immediately. The guy had solid form, and his technique was clean—clearly someone who had trained a lot—but he lacked the raw power and sheer speed needed to keep up. Each time he blocked a strike, the force sent him skidding back, feet dragging along the ground.
Meanwhile, the pain in Zephyr’s side had started to fade. The nanites coursing through his system kicked in, rapidly accelerating his healing. He could now move freely, the sharp edge of the injury dulling into a manageable throb.
He knew what he was supposed to be doing, what he set out to do here; lay low, blend in, complete the one-year mandatory service, and return to his predictable, quiet life. No unnecessary attention. No problems.
But something primal clawed its way to the surface. A deep, gnawing urge to retaliate.
’Aegis, am I being affected by any external substance?’