Pàng Hǔ charged like a freight train, arms outstretched, massive hands ready to grab and crush.
"He's aiming for your stomach!" Cupid shouted. "Move!"
Tòumíng dodged left, barely avoiding the grab, Pàng Hǔ's fingers brushing his tank top as he twisted away. The momentum carried the giant forward a few steps before he recovered, turning with surprising agility for someone his size.
Tòumíng's heart hammered, his breathing already coming in ragged gasps. This wasn't like fighting the gang members last night. Those guys had been street fighters, brawlers with more aggression than technique. This was different. Pàng Hǔ moved like someone with training, with experience, with the kind of body control that came from years of disciplined work.
How the hell was he supposed to fight this head-on?
He couldn't trade blows. One punch from those sledgehammer fists would shatter bones even with Schrödinger's Heart keeping him alive. He needed to be smart. Tactical. Use size against itself.
Pàng Hǔ charged again, and Tòumíng moved to the side, pivoting on his heel. As the giant passed, Tòumíng lashed out with a kick aimed at the back of Pàng Hǔ's lower hamstrings, the vulnerable spot behind the knees that should drop anyone.
His foot connected solidly.
Pàng Hǔ didn't even stumble.
"What the fuck?!" Tòumíng gasped, backing away quickly.
"The hamstrings are underdeveloped on most people!" Cupid explained rapidly. "But look at him! Those calves! He's clearly trained legs extensively! That's not going to work!"
Tòumíng tried another approach, moving behind Pàng Hǔ and throwing a punch directly into the broad expanse of his back. His fist connected with solid muscle, the impact jarring up his arm.
Pàng Hǔ turned slowly, a grin spreading across his face. "That tickle?"
"The back is one of the most durable parts during a fight!" Cupid yelled. "All those muscles protecting the spine! You need to aim for weak points! The jaw! Temple! Throat!"
Right. Weak points.
Tòumíng circled around to face Pàng Hǔ directly, waiting for an opening. The giant advanced, arms spread wide, trying to corral him, to limit his movement options.
Then Pàng Hǔ lunged, and Tòumíng saw his chance.
He ran forward instead of away, getting inside Pàng Hǔ's reach before the grab could connect, and launched a kick upward, a soccer kick aimed directly at the jaw.
His shin connected with devastating force.
Pàng Hǔ's head snapped back. His massive body wavered, balance disrupted, and he fell backward, hitting the ground with a thud that rattled nearby windows.
"YES!" Tòumíng didn't waste the opportunity. He jumped on top of Pàng Hǔ's prone form, winding up for a punch aimed at the stomach, trying to drive the air from those massive lungs—
Pàng Hǔ's hand shot out faster than should have been possible for someone who'd just been kicked in the face.
His fingers wrapped around Tòumíng's wrist, stopping the punch mid-swing. Then, with terrifying ease, he pulled Tòumíng down and sideways, his legs coming up to wrap around Tòumíng's torso.
Leglock.
Tòumíng felt the pressure immediately, those massive thighs squeezing around his ribs ribs that had been broken and healed less than twelve hours ago. The pain was instant and overwhelming.
But worse was coming.
Pàng Hǔ's arm snaked around Tòumíng's neck from behind, his other arm coming across to complete the triangle. Head triangle choke. A submission hold designed to cut off blood flow to the brain, to render someone unconscious in seconds.
The pressure was immense. Immediate. Tòumíng couldn't breathe, couldn't move, trapped in a vice of muscle and technique.
"Five to ten seconds before you pass out!" Cupid's voice was urgent, panicked. "Maybe less! You need to act NOW!"
Tòumíng tucked his chin down hard, pressing it against his chest. It stopped the choke from being fully effective, bought him a few precious seconds, but the pressure was still building. Blood pounded in his ears. His vision started to narrow at the edges.
He slipped his left arm up, wedging it between Pàng Hǔ's forearm and his own neck, creating a small gap. Not much. Just enough to let some blood flow through. His right hand grabbed at Pàng Hǔ's locked hands, trying to pry them apart, fingers scrabbling for purchase on slick, sweat-covered skin.
The giant's grip didn't budge. It was like trying to pry apart welded steel.
Then Pàng Hǔ leaned in close, his mouth right next to Tòumíng's ear, his voice a low, intimate whisper that made Tòumíng's skin crawl.
"I'll make sure to kill you quick so I can get to my darling. I brought condoms, you know. So I can have even more fun with my Mei when I'm done with you. Whether he wants it or not."
The words cut through the oxygen deprivation, the pain, everything. Crystal clear. Unmistakable in their intent.
Rage flooded Tòumíng's system, hot and absolute. The decreased empathy from his Suicidal Idiot title meant he'd already stopped caring about self-preservation. But this? This activated something deeper. Something primal.
He grinned through the chokehold, his face probably turning purple, and managed to force words out past the constriction.
"Well... how about... I ruin that... for you?"
His free hand, the one that had been uselessly trying to pry apart Pàng Hǔ's grip, dropped lower. Reached down between the giant's legs. And found its target. THE BALLS!
And squeezed.
Not a tap. Not a warning. Full strength. All his might concentrated into his fingers, gripping and crushing with every ounce of desperate survival instinct he possessed.
Pàng Hǔ's entire body went rigid.
But the chokehold didn't release.
If anything, it tightened. The giant's face contorted in agony, veins standing out on his forehead, but his arms stayed locked around Tòumíng's neck. His legs squeezed harder around the ribs.
This was a battle now. Pure endurance. Who would give up first?
Tòumíng squeezed harder, his fingers digging in, feeling things compress and shift in ways they definitely shouldn't. The pain he was inflicting had to be astronomical. Excruciating. The kind of pain that made grown men vomit and pass out.
But Pàng Hǔ held on.
His arms trembled with the effort. Sweat poured down his face. His breathing came in ragged gasps that whistled through clenched teeth. But he didn't let go.
Tòumíng's vision was going dark now. Black spots dancing across his field of view. His lungs screamed for air they couldn't get. His heart pounded erratically, the Schrödinger's Heart keeping him alive but not comfortable.
He squeezed harder. Used both hands now, abandoning the attempt to pry apart the chokehold, committing fully to this strategy. Gripping and twisting and crushing with everything he had.
Pàng Hǔ made a sound that was half scream, half sob. His entire body shook. Tears streamed down his face. But his arms stayed locked.
"Let... go..." Tòumíng managed to wheeze out, his voice barely audible.
"You... first..." Pàng Hǔ gasped back, his voice high and strained with agony.
This was insane. Completely insane. Two men locked in mutual destruction, each refusing to yield, each inflicting maximum damage on the other in a horrifying stalemate.
Tòumíng's vision narrowed to a pinpoint. Five seconds left? Three? He couldn't tell anymore. His thoughts were becoming sluggish, disconnected.
He squeezed harder. Found reserves of strength he didn't know he had. Channeled every bit of rage about Měi Nán being threatened, about being choked, about this entire stupid situation into his grip.
Pàng Hǔ screamed. Actually screamed. The sound was raw, primal, the kind of noise that came from pain beyond description.
But still, he didn't let go.
Neither did Tòumíng.
The world faded to almost nothing. Just pressure and pain and the desperate need to outlast, to survive, to win this horrifying contest of wills.
Who would break first?
The squeeze... or the headlock?