Who is this? I don't know. I asked him point blank, "Who are you?" He glanced past me, his eyes scanning the inside of my house. "Nobody. I just need to check something." Check something? I questioned further, "Check what?" His demeanor shifted abruptly. He yelled, "Check something inside. Let me in." I shook my head, taking a step back. "No. Of course not. Leave." I then tried shutting the door, but his hand was still there, stopping it. He forced it open slightly and said, "Guess we're doing this the hard way." He reached for something at his side. No! Reacting on pure instinct, I leaned back and kicked him hard in the chest. The force of the kick sent him stumbling backward. In the exchange, I didn't immediately notice the gleam of the axe he had swiped, missing my head by mere inches. The man fell down the stairs, rolling down the few steps in a tangle of limbs. He quickly recovered, standing up and wiping himself off with a look of irritation. Holding the axe with a casual menace, he used it as if it were a shaver, taunting me with a cruel smile. "Just let me in, and you won't have to die." He didn't even seem hurt.
So it's like that. Everything inside me is screaming to run and go get a knife or one of our guns, but he's faster than me. This is a death battle; fairness is not an option. I shimmied through a drawer near the door, my fingers trembling, and took out some gloves. These weren't just any gloves; they were high-tech, with small titanium bracers on the knuckles, designed to increase my attack potency. I needed these if I wanted to survive. I slowly walked down the steps as the man eyed me with a predatory gaze. God, grant me strength. I slid the gloves down my hands, feeling the reassuring weight of the bracers as I braced myself for what was to come. I met his eyes with a steely resolve and said, "Are you ready, you piece of shit?"
He grinned, an unsettling mix of amusement and malice. "Show me something good." His military clothing caught my attention again. Is he ex-military? It could just be a fashion choice. Wait, no. That's not true at all. I noticed a tattoo on his ankle as he shifted his stance. Three green triangles interconnected, with a beret in the middle. He's ex-special forces. Son of a... Just my luck. Let's get to work.
I threw a far left overhand, making sure to watch his movements. It missed as the man blocked it with the blunt side of his axe. I noticed that my fist didn't get hurt by the impact, the gloves sparing me. I quickly retreated, firing a left jab that bruised his shoulder. Encouraged by the small victory, I threw another to the same spot, deepening the bruise. I aimed for a third, but he deflected it with ease. I then stepped forward, extending my right arm for a powerful right straight. The man was one step ahead of me. As soon as I stepped in, he swung his axe horizontally, stopping my advance in its tracks. I ducked under the swing just in time, the metal blade nearly decapitating me. My heart pounded in my chest, the close call sending a fresh wave of adrenaline through my body. He taunted, "Was that your best, young man? You're not worth toying with!" Ignoring his words, I focused on my breathing, trying to stay calm. This man wasn't just physically powerful; he was skilled and experienced.
He swung his axe again diagonally, and it was about to hit my stomach. I ducked, hurling a right hook that hit the sharp axe perfectly. The clash created a loud, metallic ring, reverberating. Both my fist and his axe flew back from the pressure created, but only I was hurt. His axe did not crack, but I definitely felt my bones crack, a sharp pain shooting up my arm. Seems like I got a bit too hasty there. I jumped back, creating some distance, my breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. Should I go for grappling? No. He has a weapon. Striking is generally preferred for things like this anyway. He spun his axe with a flourish, a confident grin spreading across his face. "You thinking about your next move? I won't let you, haha!" He dashed in, axe by his side, his eyes locked onto mine.
----------------------------------------
Hashigana Style: Poke
- Throw a jab, then at the last second, extend your finger to gouge the enemy's eyes.
----------------------------------------
I tried to strike him, my jab nearly landing. In the middle of his dash, he stopped, detecting my attack. You made a fatal mistake, though! I extended my finger and nearly punctured his eye. All I did was bruise it, or whatever the equivalent. He leapt back, covering his eye, a pained grimace twisting his features. He stared at me, evil and bad intentions discernible to even the most naive. His one good eye blazed with fury. He whispered, so quiet I could barely hear him, "I'm done playing around with you." His voice was low and menacing, sending a chill down my spine. He dashed in again, somehow even quicker.
----------------------------------------
Hashigana Style: Poke
- Throw a jab, then at the last second, extend your finger to gouge the enemy's eyes.
----------------------------------------
I threw another poke, trying to get him this time. At full extension, he seized my wrist, his grip like a vice. He squeezed it, causing me great pain, a sharp ache radiating up my arm. I tried to kick him, but in the middle of it, he swung his axe. The axe cut into my chest and tore my shirt, the swing not cutting me in two but tearing muscle and skin. A searing pain shot through my body as blood started to seep through the wound. I pushed my right arm, punching him in the face with all my remaining strength. He let go, and I stumbled back, striking into the house wall, completely cornered. I breathed heavily, fear finally getting to me. Will I die here? How can I fight back? He's proven himself to be better than me in every way. It doesn't matter if he's holding a weapon; no scrub can take my blows as he has.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
My father's words echoed in my mind: "Use this technique if your life is ever in danger." My face drooped down, right to my feet, as I gathered my soul. I stomped hard, dust from the dirt fearing my presence, a small cloud rising around my feet. The man slowly walked forward, a predatory smile on his lips. "Give up?" he taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance. I looked up at him, my will to fight roaring one last time, eyes blazing with determination. "Never." I muttered under my breath.
----------------------------------------
Hashigana Style Ultimate Technique: Breathless Onslaught
- You must study yogic breathing for a minimum of two months before trying this. The user takes one deep breath, then attacks the enemy relentlessly with all they have for twenty seconds, not taking a single breath. This leaves you winded after the fact.
----------------------------------------
Taking one deep breath, holding it in my lungs, I threw a powerful right straight, and he blocked it with the axe again. He looked into my eyes, a hint of surprise in his voice, "That was... strong?" I ignored him and threw a left hook. It hit him in his cheek, damaging him further. This must not end! I threw more punches, specifically focusing on fast attacks. He dodged some and got hit by others. Each blow did significant damage, the impact resonating through my fists. Ten seconds left! I spun, ignoring what is 'effective.' I executed a three-sixty roundhouse perfectly, my foot connecting with his ear.
Crashing down, my landing not perfect, a jolt of pain shot up my leg. He raised his axe high, and it descended with a menacing force. I threw a kick, and it deflected the axe, the clash ringing out. Two seconds left! I shot up, standing right in front of him, my muscles burning with exhaustion. His face looked shocked for the first time so far, eyes wide in disbelief. I charged a punch, putting everything I had into it, and indented his stomach. He flew back, the force of the blow sending him skidding across the ground. He planted the axe in the ground to stop his flight, the blade digging into the earth. I fell to my knees, more tired than ever, my breaths ragged and labored. He has to be... defeated after that. I gazed in his direction, hoping for some sign of victory, and I saw a terrifying sight. He was standing, bloodied but still defiant, his eyes burning with a vengeful fire. His resilience was monstrous!
He was clearly worse for wear but not even close to fainting. I struck the ground, damning myself. How could it be?! I gave him everything I had! I can't fight back... anymore. He strolled over to me, and stated, "That wasn't bad, kid. You actually showed me something good." I faced him, desperation and frustration boiling over, "What do you want from me?!"
Trying to give an innocent look, his eyes betrayed him. "You? Nothing. I just wanted to go inside your house." Clearly not for a good reason, bastard. I slowly took off my gloves, the weight of death pressing down on me. Each movement felt like it took an eternity, the leather peeling away from my sweaty, bloodied hands. He raised his axe high one last time, a cruel smile playing on his lips, and said, "Any last words?" I dropped the last glove to the floor, feeling its soft thud against the dirt.
----------------------------------------
Hashigana Style Secret Technique: God Fist
- The user tenses the muscles on their fist before throwing a punch, dramatically increasing its attack potency.
----------------------------------------
On my knees, I tried to gather as much force as I could muster and punched him in his thigh. My fist connected with a solid thud, and he skidded back yet again, his balance momentarily thrown off. I have to sacrifice everything for this. I tensed both fists. I don't have to do MMA anymore. I don't have to! I just have to protect my family from this insane psychopath!
----------------------------------------
Hashigana Style Paragon Technique: Breathless God Blows
- Combine God Fist with the Breathless Barrage technique to unleash consecutive divine blows.
----------------------------------------
I moved forward, drawing in another deep breath. The man, sensing my approach, raised his axe defensively, aware that I was employing the same technique as before. This time, however, I was limited to using only my fists. With a sacrificial glare, I charged a powerful right punch and launched it towards his axe. The impact made the axe crack audibly. The man’s eyes widened in shock as he exclaimed, “What?!” Not stopping, I followed up with a left punch, which further splintered the axe. I continued my assault with a flurry of punches, each aimed with the intention of completely destroying the weapon. The man struggled to withstand the relentless barrage, his body shaking under the force of my blows. With one more decisive punch, I shattered the axe into countless tiny pieces.
As I pulled my fists back into my line of sight, I could feel the sting of the impact, though it wasn’t as painful as I had anticipated. I can finish this! The man, realizing the tide had turned, leapt backward in an attempt to retreat. His guard is down! I delivered a swift, targeted liver blow. He coughed up blood and staggered to the side. Not giving him a moment to recover, I struck again with another liver blow to the opposite side, causing him to vomit even more blood. He gasped for air, his strength clearly waning. I began to rain down strikes to his face, each punch landing with brutal force. His face became a bloody mess as he endured every hit. Fueled by the intensity of the moment, I let out a primal yell as I threw one last punch. However, my final strike flew past him, the momentum carrying me to the floor. It was in that instant that reality set in.
My fists were in a sorry state—what was once solid bone and muscle was now a mangled mess, a grotesque testament to the brutal exchange. The man, though severely battered, seemed to defy the odds by remaining on his feet. He looked at me with a smirk and said, “Dumb kid. You’ve really done a number on yourself. If only I didn’t know how to roll punches.” Rolling punches?! How can he roll such powerful blows?! It's almost too impressive! I couldn’t afford to dwell on this revelation, as my vision began to blur and fade. The last thing I saw before losing consciousness was him walking calmly into the house, his parting words: “Pardon the intrusion.”