Makun watched the hand reach toward him.
With his enhanced vision from the awakening, he could see it. Dark energy coiling around the man's fingers like smoke. Dense. Hungry.
Not sure what to do, Makun took a step back.
Too slow.
The man had already walked the Mystic way. His body moved faster than normal. Practiced. Efficient.
Clack.
Makun felt his neck held firm in the man's grip.
Cold fingers wrapped around his throat. Not crushing, but controlling. Total control.
Once again, Makun felt powerless.
Different from the time with the presence. Then, he hadn't known what it was. What she represented. The scale of that power was beyond comprehension.
But this man in front of him was human.
And Makun had trained in martial arts his whole life to help himself escape negative situations. Grappling. Chokes. Basic self defense.
If not for that, all those late night aggressions would've ended differently. The drunk who cornered him outside a convenience store two years ago. The group that tried to jump him for his phone last spring. The creep who followed him home from the bus stop.
His training had saved him every time.
He was proud of that knowledge. Proud of the discipline it took to learn. The hours spent drilling movements until they became instinct.
It had kept him alive when his luck failed him.
But here, against someone who'd walked the Mystic way, all that training meant nothing.
He was so powerless.
He could do nothing as the man lifted him from the ground. His toes scraped the cobblestones. The book pressed tight against his chest.
"Give me the book." The man's voice was low. Controlled. "Or be dealt with."
Makun's lungs burned. His vision blurred at the edges.
But he couldn't accept it.
This book was his solution. His way forward.
"Over my dead body." He struggled, spat the words out.
So weak but so daring?
The man's eyes narrowed behind the red glow.
"It's the fate you decided."
His left fist charged with energy. Makun could see it now. Extremely dense. Concentrated. The spiritual particles compressed into something solid, something that could break bones.
The fist pulled back.
Aimed at Makun's stomach. One hit to put him to sleep. One hit to make his grip release the book.
Makun gripped harder.
The book dug into his ribs. His knuckles went white.
The punch never came.
Instead, the grip on his neck vanished.
Makun dropped, hit the ground hard. His knees buckled.
Through watering eyes, he saw the man hurled through the air. Not thrown. Launched. Like wind had picked him up and discarded him.
The man crashed into a stall ten feet away. Wood splintered. Objects scattered.
Makun turned.
The veiled lady stood where she'd been sitting. In her hand, a beautiful Chinese fan. Ornate. Painted with symbols that seemed to move in the lamplight.
She'd used that to strike the man.
One motion. One swing.
And the man hadn't been her match.
On the side, the lady had seen everything.
She'd decided against acting earlier. If what Makun told her was true, if he had such a thing happen to him, then he had to have some strength. Some way of surviving.
Otherwise, maybe he was lying.
In that case, she'd have to trade with the man instead. Cut her losses.
But the more she saw, the more disappointed she became.
Maybe he really did lie to her.
He'd just wasted her time.
However.
What if he was weak but wasn't lying?
If she was wrong and didn't help Makun, then he'd never give her that opportunity. The thing he'd whispered. The thing she felt could greatly benefit her.
So she decided against standing still.
She joined in.
What she didn't know was that Makun had anticipated this.
That's why he spoke in the first place. Why he offered what he did.
If not for her, with his luck, he might as well have tripped on something and died. And the man would've collected the book from his corpse.
The man on the floor looked at her, slightly bewildered.
He'd expected her to intervene. That was the only logical course.
But he didn't expect her to be that strong.
He understood now why she discarded the root like it was nothing. Third grade Adept enlightenment wasn't something he could show off in front of her.
She was beyond that.
However, he wasn't going to give up like this.
He stood slowly. Brushed splinters from his coat.
His lips moved. Mumbling. Words in a language Makun didn't recognize.
The air around the man thickened. The spiritual particles responded, drawn to him like iron filings to a magnet.
The veiled lady looked at him and scoffed.
She turned to Makun.
"Come stand next to me."
Makun didn't think.
He scrambled to his feet, stumbled toward her. His throat still ached. His hands still shook.
But he moved.
The man finished his chant.
Energy exploded around him. Red light flared. The cobblestones cracked beneath his feet.
He launched forward.
Not running. Flying.
His body blurred, leaving afterimages in the air.
The veiled lady raised her fan.
The man closed the distance in seconds.
His fist, still charged with that dense energy, aimed straight for her face.