Irritation flashed across Vance's face before he dashed forward with everything he got.
The first punch came faster than anything he had thrown before.
However, Francis's vibration sense gave him a rough read of where it would land. It wasn't as precise as trajectory reading, but it still did its job.
The fist passed his ear close enough that he felt the air displacement against his skin.
Vance threw again, a tight cross.
Francis ducked under it, and moved to the outside.
"You're not hitting back," Vance spat out.
"Not yet."
The answer seemed to annoy him more than aggression would have.
He rushed in again, throwing combinations now—three, four strikes in quick succession, each one carrying enough force to end the fight instantly if it landed clean.
Francis moved through all of them. Soon his eyes adjusted to the speed. His trajectory reading started working again.
It painted every path the moment his opponent committed.
