The ice sword sliced cleanly into the man's chest, sending an icy chill radiating through his body. Frost spread rapidly from the wound, crawling across his torso like a web of winter vines.
Andrew braced himself for a reaction, but the man moved faster than he expected. In a sudden, explosive burst of speed, the man lunged forward, his fist crashing into Andrew's stomach. Pain exploded through Andrew's midsection, sharp and all-consuming, making him gasp.
That punch… it could've shattered my ribs if it hadn't slipped! Andrew realized as he staggered backward. His slippery secretion—the protective layer he'd conjured instinctively—had diverted the blow just enough to save him. But the impact still launched him off his feet.
Before Andrew could recover, the man seized his leg with iron-like fingers. He swung Andrew like a rag doll, his grip tightening, intent on smashing him into the ground. But the slipperiness of Andrew's secretion betrayed him again.
