Rex did something far more cruel than striking again. He stopped.
He planted his feet, folded his arms across his massive chest, and simply waited. His stance was relaxed, almost bored, a posture that screamed to everyone in the hall that Theo was no longer a threat; he was a nuisance.
"Come on, Prince," Rex provoked, his voice dripping with venomous calm. "You said you wanted to continue."
"Show me that legendary Nightwing ferocity. Or was it all just pretty speeches and expensive robes?"
Theo screamed a sound that wasn't human, a sound of pure, broken desperation, and lunged. He threw everything he had left into a desperate series of strikes: haymakers, stabs with his broken fingers, and wild knees.
WHOOSH.
Rex stepped an inch to the left.
WHOOSH.
Rex dipped his shoulder.
WHOOSH.
Rex spun on his heel, the wind from his movement nearly knocking the unsteady Theo off balance.
