The fight dragged on, and Jace was starting to realize the problem.
He was faster now, much faster, and every dodge, every step, felt sharper than before. But the truth was clear: his fists weren't enough.
Each punch rattled the brute, staggered it, but never for long. The monster shook off hits like it was built to tank damage.
And all the while, Jace could hear distant screams echoing through the mall.
Every second wasted meant more bodies.
[You won't win by trading shots,] Zin snapped. [Its frame is too dense. You're battering the surface, not breaking it. You need leverage. Weapons. Use the environment.]
Jace's eyes darted across the wreckage. Cracked tiles. Shattered glass. Rubble everywhere.
Then he spotted it: a bent steel pole, once part of a shop display, long enough to serve as a makeshift spear.
He dashed for it, boots skidding over broken plaster.
