“Far be it from me to deny you a knife sparring match.”
He chuckled and dropped the chair from his shoulder, letting it rest against his leg as he cracked his neck and worked the kinks out from his shoulders. Corded muscles tensed as he raised his weapon from the ground one more time, dropping into his stance.
The grin spreading across his face could only be described as feral, and he laughed out loud, his voice dripping with bloodlust, as his grip tightened and he kicked off the ground, bringing the chair about in a vicious swing toward Sho’s midsection.
The scar-faced loony’s excitement, so palpable he’d attempted to eat it already twice, was so vast that for a moment the concept of dodging completely flew from his head like a bird from a roost that’s recently become a bonfire.
Thus, the chair’s full-impact greeted him like a forcibly delivered UPS package, bending him like a damp spaghetti noodle and flinging him into the pavement’s loving arms.
Sho had a longtime intimacy with pain, and the relationship was getting pretty serious. The bleating nerves in his gut had begun to sing along with the heat in his head, and his brain began to cook in their glow.
Rational thought was not something the kid had much of to begin with, and the last dregs of it had fled to some faraway land.
Reanimating suddenly from its motionless state on the asphalt, Sho sprung back up, his eyes shining. Some flecks of blood seeped at his mouth, and he licked them away.
The taste of copper and the mantra of FIGHT was about all that his brain was processing.
“Got another one in ya?” He said sweetly, and sprinted at him with a bestial yell, twice as fervent as before.
His blades swept in two lethal lines, going for his colleague’s gut in a scissor-like motion.
