My fingers closed around his knuckles, stopping the blow dead.
There was no great impact, no strain. It was like catching a ball a child had tossed.
Then his eyes widened, his anger momentarily eclipsed by pure, unadulterated shock. As if surprised.
Well, I didn't know why he was surprised. I just casually dodged all his attacks; what made him think I couldn't do this?
Did he think my only skill was leaning out of the way?
The lack of basic logic was astounding.
"I would ask you only one question," I said, my voice low and steady, my grip on his fist unyielding. "What rank are you?"
The boy didn't reply. He just stared, wide-eyed, trying and failing to pull his hand free.
So, to bring the word out of him, I increased the pressure.
I didn't punch him. I just squished his hand tight.
My fingers, strengthened by levels and a core he couldn't even imagine, tightened like a vice.
He groaned in pain, his bravado evaporating as his knuckles ground together.
