Her mind was sharp, calculating. Every strike he threw was telegraphed, every movement repeated. He was strong, agile, and deadly—but predictable. Kaya used his own momentum against him: a series of jabs to his stomach, knees to his thighs, and a brutal roundhouse kick that sent him sprawling into a tree trunk.
Branches snapped under his weight. He struggled to rise, but Kaya was already on him, fists raining down with methodical precision. Each blow drove the wind out of his lungs, each strike a lesson in controlled violence.
The mongoose's roars echoed across the silent night, mingling with the crunch of shattered wood and the slap of flesh. But Kaya didn't pause. She was a storm, calm yet relentless, every movement efficient, every strike purposeful.
