Vegeta was faster. More experienced. His techniques refined through five years of combat against enemies that would have ended anything lesser.
But Satou was relentless. Every time Vegeta knocked him down, he got back up. Every injury made him angrier. His Predator's Gaze intensified with each exchange, his presence becoming more oppressive, more dangerous — the skill working at levels he had never pushed it to before, the pressure of it radiating outward and affecting everything in range.
They traded blows at speeds the watching goblins and orcs could barely track. Shadow constructs formed and were destroyed. Earth rose to block attacks and was shattered by darkness. The air crackled with the combined output of two beings pushing their capabilities against each other.
Despite everything — despite every skill, every adaptation, every piece of power he had absorbed and built up across weeks of survival — Vegeta was winning.
