Dust roared under their boots. Every strike carried a hurricane of sounds, from the whish of air slicing past them, the thunk of impacts, and the cracks of bones and debris.
Jim's fists moved faster than the eye could follow, but Yung Mai's counters weren't just defensive.
He moved in a deadly dance of limbs and momentum, the tip of his white robe tracing slicing arcs that carried the force with it.
Jim tried to spin away, but Yung Mai anticipated it and caught him mid-flight.
His right leg launched like a catapult, catching Jim mid-twist and sending him slamming through a wooden platform.
Bam.
Dust erupted into the air, choking and blinding as splinters rained down.
Jim rolled, trying to push himself up. Sweat, blood, and dust coated him like armor.
Yung Mai exhaled sharply and moved with an invisible intention. His arms swept, legs snapped, every movement created gusts of wind that sent debris and leaves spiraling.
