The third stored strike—he had been accumulating across the last several exchanges—he held.
He was thinking.
About what he had just seen. About the way the first two redirected strikes had landed not just as force but as disruption. About the three stored impacts Luton was still holding, each one from the Captain's most powerful output of the fight, each one dense with the escalated demonic essence that had been building since the first exchange.
Three of them.
Combined.
Released through a single committed strike aimed at a specific point rather than a general target.
His eyes moved across the Captain as it recovered from the last exchange—reading its stance, its defense distribution, the point where its reinforcement was still fractured from the first redirected blow and had not yet fully covered up.
There.
The same point.
The fracture was still present. Still open, even if marginally.
Damien moved.
