Wukong reappeared behind him, the staff reduced to the size of a simple club. He turned quickly, but Wukong struck him squarely in the chest, sending Qing Long tumbling several meters away.
"You're doing your best, huh? But you're slow. Even with your lineage, is this the most powerful of the younger generation? What a joke!"
Qing Long spat blood. But he didn't let anger consume him.
He analyzed.
Wukong was fast. Very fast. But he followed a rhythm. A natural arrogance drove him to play with his opponent. He wasn't seeking a quick kill; he wanted to dominate, to humiliate.
Qing Long closed his eyes for a moment.
*Inhale*
When he reopened them, the world seemed to slow down.
Wukong leaped.
Qing Long moved at just the right moment. He dodged by mere millimeters, just enough to feel the wind of the staff brush against his skin. Then he pivoted, his claws tearing through the air.
Wukong's eyes widened.
A gash appeared on his shoulder.
