A fast horizontal slash forced John to duck low, the keen edge whistling inches over his head. As he rose, a thrust aimed for his gut sent him scrambling backward, barely pulling his torso clear. The cold reality of fighting a master with a blade, a scenario he had never trained for with his mentor, slammed into him.
He was taking damage. A glancing cut opened a shallow line on his bicep, stinging sharply as blood welled. Another quick parry from the mentor, and the tip of the blade nicked his cheek, a thin line of warmth blossoming across his skin. He was entirely focused on dodging, his mind frantically searching for any opening, any flaw in the mentor's relentless assault.
He seized a fleeting opportunity. As the mentor overextended slightly on a thrust, John flowed into him with a sudden, low Broken Step pivot, closing the distance. He drove a Dog Fang strike, hardened by a surge of Chi, directly at the mentor's exposed knee. It wasn't a killing blow, but a crippling one. The mentor roared, a sound of pain and fury, as the impact landed solidly. He stumbled, his knee buckling, but even as he fell, he swept the katana in a wide, desperate arc.
John barely managed to leap back, the razor-sharp edge of the blade catching the fabric of his sleeve, tearing a thin line but missing his flesh. The mentor recovered quickly, rising with a new, dangerous fury in his eyes.
With a slight, almost imperceptible movement of the hand, three star kunai suddenly appeared in his mentor's grip. With a flick of the wrist, they were airborne, a deadly, silent flurry launched directly at John. John, who was still retreating, instinctively reached out and caught the first one, its cold metal biting into his palm. But the others, following in quick succession, were harder to evade. One thudded into his upper arm, another buried itself in his thigh.
A sharp gasp of pain escaped John's lips, but he bit it back immediately. His mentor was already closing the distance, the katana now raised for another lethal strike.
John's movements, while still incredibly fast, were now laced with the agony of his wounds, each pivot and dodge sending fresh pangs through his injured muscles. He parried a vertical slash with a desperate cross-block, the blade ringing against his braced forearms, the impact nearly shattering his already compromised arm.
He couldn't afford to be on the defensive. He had to create space, to regain control. As the mentor pressed in, John used The Broken Step not to evade, but to abruptly step into the mentor's blind spot, accepting a shallow cut across his back as he moved. It was a risky maneuver, but it paid off. He was now dangerously close, too close for the sword to be wielded effectively. He lunged, driving a Dog Fang Grapple straight at the mentor's wrist, attempting to disarm him with a brutal, twisting lock.
The mentor roared, a sound of pure frustration. He was forced to drop the katana, letting it clatter to the ground, rather than have his wrist shattered. But even as the blade fell, the mentor's other hand lashed out, a Chi-infused punch aimed directly at John's head. John ducked, feeling the wind of the blow as it passed, and immediately retaliated with a series of quick, vicious Dog Fang strikes aimed at the mentor's core, exploiting the brief moment of disarray. He landed two solid blows, feeling the impact against his knuckles.
The mentor stumbled back, momentarily winded, but his eyes burned with an unyielding intensity. This wasn't over. Not by a long shot—that was the mentor's thought, not John's. John hated prolonged fights. They became too unpredictable for someone like him who thrived on pattern and control.
With that in mind, John pushed his body into the adrenaline state. There was no use hiding his powers anymore, not after the stunt he'd pulled with his fellow trainees. It seemed the League had been keeping one eye open and one eye closed on his unique abilities, allowing him to grow unchecked until the final assessment. Now, the time for subtlety was over.
John's mentor frowned as he picked up on the subtle, sudden change in John's demeanor. The next moment, the mentor noticed his feet were no longer on the ground. He was now facing the sky, his world tilting in a sickening blur.
John, now fully immersed in his adrenaline state, felt a surge of raw power. With the addition of Chi, he was stronger and quicker than ever before. His mentor, caught off guard by the sudden and overwhelming change, could hardly react. John struck from low, a spear-like blow that lifted his mentor off the ground before slamming him back down with brutal force.
John didn't pause. He transitioned into a football stance, his muscles coiled, and delivered a powerful kick to his mentor's side. The mentor's body left the ground again, flying through the air before falling hard.
As his mentor fell, John, who had already leaped into the air, came down with his fist cocked back, aiming for the mentor's head. The mentor, despite his injuries, managed to move at the last second. John's blow landed with a loud thud, shattering the ground and forming a small pit the size of a bowl. The mentor's eyes widened in shock at the damage. He struggled to stand, but John's two successive blows had left him heavily incapacitated. John, devoid of hesitation, stepped forward, his adrenaline-fueled senses still humming.
He reached out, taking his mentor by the throat and lifting him from the ground. There was a very strong hesitation in John's eyes, a flicker of something close to mercy. But as he gazed into his mentor's eyes, he saw not defiance, but a look of desperate pleading.
John released his hand from his mentor's throat. His body fell, and in John's heightened state, he perceived the movement in slow motion. Before his mentor's feet could even touch the ground, John's arm extended for a final, quick blow. The strike was brutal and precise, and his mentor's whole face sunk in with a sickening crunch.
John stood over his fallen mentor, his chest heaving, the adrenaline slowly receding. The fight was over. He had survived.
John took a moment to sense his Chi and noticed how low it was. The intense combat, combined with his earlier adrenal manipulation and a final, brutal effort, had drained him almost completely. The cuts on his body, though minor, still bled. Worse, he found himself unsure of how to use his Chi for healing such superficial, piercing wounds. His healing was always a slow, internal regeneration, not a rapid sealing of an open cut.
He had only one other tool in his arsenal: his new level of bodily control. Focusing his will, he manipulated the muscles at the site of each cut, tensing them to forcibly close the wounds and slow the bleeding. It was a crude and painful solution, but it worked. The cuts were sealed, though a deep, throbbing ache remained
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