Rex addressed the improvisation in two seconds. The improvised attack, while brilliant in its design, was still a predictable sequence of human muscle fibers and momentum.
To Rex, it was like watching a child throw a pebble at a fortress wall; the intent was clear, but the impact was meaningless.
What followed was not a fight. It was a systematic dismantling.
For forty-five seconds, the training hall became a chamber of violence. Rex moved through Theo's defenses like a scalpel through silk, but his strikes carried the force of sledgehammers.
A kidney shot that left Theo gasping for air; a brutal sweep that sent him crashing into the stone; a precise, bone-jarring palm strike to the sternum that sounded like a crack of thunder.
Each movement was calculated to neutralize without killing, but each impact left a mark of absolute dominance.
Finally, it ended.
