Heated

"Weak," the man sneered, his voice dripping with condescension, reminiscent of a self-proclaimed genius boasting about his IQ. Each utterance grated on my nerves, a ceaseless irritant. But retaliating with a punch was a luxury I wasn't granted. He swung mercilessly, a relentless barrage that I managed to evade.

My staff was back in my hands, clashing with his weapon in a symphony of strikes. In the midst of the combat, I stole a glance at Louis, who was unceremoniously tossing another man, clad in a country outfit, into a nearby toilet, reducing it to rubble. Perhaps we should switch opponents.

Refocusing on my own adversary, he lunged at me with a flurry of swings, striking both sides of my jaw. As he prepared for a final blow, I lifted my staff to block, swiftly maneuvering it to the side. However, his leg struck my thigh, destabilizing me like a phone running on empty battery.