Francis wrenched his body sideways.
The crystallization had slowed him down — he could feel it in the drag of each movement, like his limbs were fighting through gravity.
But his trajectory reading was enough to compensate, painting ghost-lines over everything that moved, and it gave him just enough margin to slip past the spike.
Luke was already pulling his hand back for a second attempt.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
Three volleys erupted from the ground in rapid succession, cutting off every viable landing angle.
Francis read the pattern before the third one even broke the surface.
Luke wasn't just attacking. He was boxing — plotting terrain, closing exits, herding him into a specific location.
'Smart.'
Francis noted it. Then he stopped playing along.
He drew a breath and drove his fist straight down.
BOOOOM!
