The Magistrate
The Magistrate waited for Josiah to come at him with both arms crossed. The mocking smile on his face exposed his confidence. He hadn’t even begun making it easier to draw his weapons out of the huge number of belts and chains they were being held with among the heavy armory the man carried with him.
‘Did I really uttered all cockily I’m going to give this guy hell? What the f*ck is wrong with me?’ Josiah realized internally.
The Magistrate didn’t move an inch, even with Josiah stepping closer.
‘Forget it. Focus. If this dumbass won’t start fighting, I will.’
He charged trying to reproduce what he learned, but the small worries in the back of his mind may have turned it into a slower assault than he was accustomed to.
As soon as Josiah got close, he felt his left shoulder tearing up. When he looked to his left a huge jet of blood splashed on his face. Where did that come from? Josiah didn’t see anything until he was cut. All of that happened in mid-air, during his attack.