Wynn stepped into the center of the room, where the lounge chairs would’ve been positioned if not already moved. Then he spread his legs, raised his arms, and balled his hands into fists. “Show me what you’ve got.”
“Heh.” Crow lifted a bottle on the counter, angling it just so a stream of ruby liquid flowed into a shot glass. “Let’s do this.”
He clutched the shot glass and gulped down the shot in one smooth motion. His throat visibly worked to swallow the liquid.
With that, his gaze hardened. His shoulders squared. Dropping into a fighter’s crouch, he edged forward into the cleared space.
Crow will get an early boost, Wynn calculated. He was going to feel like he could take on the world for a few minutes. He wouldn’t feel much pain either.
However, that kind of power came at a cost.
Alcohol was a depressant, not a booster. It was going to sap his speed, dull his movements. And the more he downed, the less he’d stand.
Wynn just had to outlast him – which was the plan to begin with. After all, Crow had smoke in his lungs on top of the booze in his veins. Stamina was not going to be his friend.
The world simplified as it narrowed to what little space remained. Wynn stood rooted, yet not immobile. Inside, a storm brewed – adrenaline sharpened his senses to a razor’s edge.
Crow halted just beyond reach and an electric current of tension buzzed through the air.
Then, as if triggered by an unseen signal, he exhaled a mist.
What the— Wynn began to think as he dodged back, but then Crow darted through the dissipating cloud and launched a jab at his face. Instinctively, he raised his forearm, deflecting the blow aside.
Without a breath's pause, Crow dipped and shot a side punch at Wynn’s ribs. Wynn tightened and shielded himself with his elbow. The impact jolted through him, more annoyance than pain.
Crow, relentless, pivoted on his heel, launching a hook towards Wynn's temple. Wynn ducked, slipping under the sweeping blow, and narrowed his eyes.
Here was his opening.
Wynn thrust his hand forward – not for a punch, but for the sash. His fingers seized the rough fabric, but as he clutched victory, Crow’s momentum turned into a whirlwind. Pulled by Crow transforming his missed hook into a spin, Wynn stumbled forward as the belt ripped from his grasp.
Damn it all! Wynn cursed as his hand hit the floor, steadying himself just in time.
As he pushed up, Crow – now fully turned – snapped a sharp, straight kick.
Wynn flung himself to the side, avoiding the blow, and his back briefly met the ground. Then, with a swift thrust of his hands and legs, he sprang to his feet and raised his guard.
Crow rotated to face Wynn with steady, raised arms. “I’m mildly im—”
Wynn fired his own straight kick, but Crow swiftly stepped back, and the kick whistled past his abdomen.
Can’t stop now, Wynn thought as he went for another straight kick, only for Alban to retreat again.
Undeterred, Wynn persisted, executing another straight kick which Crow dodged.
“Seriously?” Alban said. “Same—”
Wynn fired a fourth straight kick and Crow withdrew further, closer to the wall.
“Try that one more time,” Crow gritted, “see what happens!”
As Wynn’s leg lifted for yet another kick, Crow blitzed in.
Think again! Wynn gloated as he aborted the kick and unleashed an open palm strike. He cracked against Crow’s jaw with the precision of a master sculptor chiseling his final touch.
Crow’s head whipped back as he fought to keep balance, his backward stumbling a desperate scramble for stability.
Wynn fired his fifth straight kick, but this time, his attack found its mark. His foot slammed into Crow’s abdomen and wrenched a sharp cry out of his mouth.
As Crow folded forward from the impact, Wynn snaked his arm around Alban’s neck and cinched in a chokehold.