Dust billowed across the arena as the wind from their fists and the afterimages of their strikes wove together into an impenetrable wall of air.
Shen Lie's Mountain-Breaking Fist grew increasingly ferocious. Every punch he threw tore through the air with a piercing shriek, and wherever the edge of his fist passed, the thick wooden posts at the arena's edge shuddered, shedding splinters.
He stared intently at Yang Jing's elusive figure, the veins on his temples bulging. Inner Strength surged wildly through his meridians, yet he was always just a hair's breadth from landing a hit.
Yang Jing was like a gust of wind. Just as he was about to be enveloped by the force of a punch, he would tap his toes on the edge of the arena, his form drifting diagonally over ten feet away to land about three feet behind Shen Lie.
BANG!
Shen Lie whirled around and punched, but his fist met only empty air, embedding itself deep into the wooden floorboards of the arena and sending splinters flying.
