Chương 102: Palm

Things were in great acceleration. While Christian was one who could intercept acceleration, reorient and weaponize it, that was for physical threats. This was the acceleration of the world around him. Just a couple of weeks ago things were tense, but manageable. Now it was the aftermath of all Hell breaking loose, with the Anti-Deforestation Union causing panic in multiple locations at once. The New Sentinels had to all act separately for each threat.

Chris ended up being taken by van, being driven out to a Southern location in Charlottesville. In the driver's seat was Billy, Tancred's right-hand man at this point.

"How're you feeling about this? Think you'll be able to manage it?" Billy asked, keeping his eyes on the road, weaving between evacuating vehicles. Chris' gaze lingered out of the van's side window, seeing plumage of smoke in the distance to the East, and the helicopter carrying May moving in that direction.

"I've fought ADU before, maybe not anything like Hercules has, but I can't just let that little fact stop me from stopping them."

"You don't need to worry about stopping them, just keeping them busy until the National Guard shows up. Once they're around and able to support you and keep the pressure on them, that's our win. I trust you can do it." The agent reached out and tapped Chris on the shoulder with the side of his fist.

"You got this. We got ten minutes until arrival. Make sure you're all prepared, check communications, the like." Chris was already very intimate with what weapons he had. Felt like spare limbs under his clothes, he'd practiced so closely with retrieving and deploying them. Confirming there was no jamming would be useful, however. Tapping his ear, he spoke.

"Checking on comms. Who do I have on receiving?"

"You've got Glenn, Flowstate." A calm voice. Older male. Smoother than polished metal.

"Thanks Glenn. Is everything coming through clear?"

"As crystal. Any concerns?"

"No, just re-reviewing communications. Will reach out if I need anything." With that, silence carried in the air until they reached the operation zone. Billy put the van in park, digging behind his seat as he retrieved a rifle.

"Here we are. Flowstate, you're going to be going in on your own. This is not a suicide mission. If things look bad for you, you tell Glenn you're retreating and come right back here. I'm gonna be here holding ground. I will cover you on your return. Do not overextend. This all make sense?" Flowstate nodded, opening the door of the van.

"You got it," he stated as his shoes hit concrete. With that, he began running towards the area, where he could see a rapidly growing tree. Most obvious spot for where they would be. He was quick to deploy both of his tonfa, knowing he'd be at a disadvantage against Wyrdwood bare-handed. The scene he arrived on was dire. About half a dozen men with guns, each one adjacent to cages made of… it almost looked like bamboo, but corrupted into the typical bark patterns of Wyrdwood.

In those cages were people, some hugging each other, some curled on the ground almost gurgling in pain. The hero immediately rushed to get started on freeing them, only for him to notice a shift in the air. Something moving towards him. It prompted him to step back as a thick rod of that same bamboo suddenly impaled itself into the concrete in front of him, wavering from the force of the throw.

"They're not part of this fight," called out a voice that came from the same direction as the throw. Looking over, Flowstate could see two individuals. Both adult men. Shirtless. Taut with muscle. The only thing covering their upper bodies were leafy cloaks similar to Gleditsia's. On the left, a black-haired man, holding another bamboo rod over his shoulders, letting his arms hang over them.

His pose showed how there seemed to be that bamboo embedded into his body, going up along his sides and under his arms, ending at the wrists. On the right, the man looked similar in terms of physique and hair-color. Maybe a sibling. However, he was unarmed, with an unnatural sheen coating his body. The only distinguisher between their appearances otherwise was a patch of facial hair on his chin.

"We were hoping we were gonna get the martial artist," spoke the bamboo-wielding one. He waved, a smirk on his face.

"Father Bambusa."

"None of your comrades would have been an interesting fight," spoke the other, his face stalwart.

"Father Moroides." They continued their approach as Flowstate took a stance, his hands gripping his tonfa tightly.

"You're really putting yourself at a disadvantage," he stated, trying his best to sound confident.

"You might have a chance if you've got six guys with guns helping you." Bambusa laughed raucously, almost forcing it out.

"Oh, I'm going to love killing you." His body whipped forward, sending the bamboo rod in his hand flying towards Flowstate. The redhead didn't hesitate, he could see the built-up potential energy Bambusa was holding onto the entire time. He had steadied himself in anticipation of a projectile attack, wanting to stand his ground instead of ceding any. Swinging one tonfa out, he knocked the flying rod aside.

However, in just that one faint moment, where the whipping of his weapon blurred out his frontal view, Moroides was already in reach of him. Flowstate attempted to thrust a strike out with his other tonfa, the Father whipped both hands up to push Flowstate's out of the way, one of the arms letting go to immediately snap a hand out towards him.

His intuition told him to normally just take the pulling of his arm and accept the downward motion to reposition, but if he went with the movement, that hand would strike his face. Instead, he held his ground, bringing his other tonfa up to block the blow. The lack of impact it felt, however, provoked a confusion that left him open. SNAP A bamboo shoot whipped across his back with enough force to make it break in half, causing his body to tense up from the sudden sharp sensation.

Shouting out was his next mistake, as he felt the palm of Moroides' hand push him away, sending him rolling. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Flowstate capitalized on that to recover, however, quickly kipping back up into a stance. The two Fathers were already lunging at him again, though they seemed to be relying on a combined arms approach, leaving more openings than Chris knew what to deal with. He aimed for a knee-strike and a kick at the same time.

The kick was meant to function more as a block than a proper blow, letting the next bamboo rod Bambusa had produced snap on it. That was the plan. His punch was going to use the tip of his tonfa, aimed at Moroides' throat as a feint. He was clearly a skilled martial artist and would know to avoid a throat strike, that'd make him hesitate. That was the plan. And it wasn't working. Moroides was still moving forward. He was calling Chris' bluff.

All he could do to avoid accidentally killing a man he wanted to detain for information was to tilt his wrist forward, let the haft of the tonfa whip him in the face. But it was too short of a distance, there was nowhere near enough force to actually do anything but piss off the opponent. Bambusa was repelled by the knee-strike, but there was no stopping Moroides as he immediately followed with a hammer strike towards Flowstate's clavicle. All he could do was redirect the blow.

He gave up the tonfa, his hands snapping up towards Moroides' wrist and elbow, trying to bend the arm against itself and force an over-compensatory move, make him snap out and spill over. That was, unfortunately, not what happened as Moroides retaliated with a sudden palm heel-thrust to Chris' forehead, knocking him off balance before he could even react.

From there came a volley of blows, these rapid, weak strikes to Chris' arms and midsection that didn't have enough force to redirect or roll against, they just were enough to irritate and make his body tense up. Like he was just trying to find ways to yank his guard further and further down. After what had to have been ten blows in just a second, a final crescendo calm in the form of an… open hand slap against Chris' exposed mouth. He was unsure of why that was the- Burning. Like he had drunk lava.

Every nerve in his face began screaming like lightning was striking it, causing him to tense up even more, his body almost locking itself in place. Adrenaline did its best to numb the agony, to keep his focus, but he had gone from frying pan and into the fire. Bambusa saw the opportunity of Chris' paralysis to thrust a sharpened bamboo rod at him. Chris barely had time to react, pulling himself to the side and grabbing the rod, actually yanking Bambusa even closer.

The pain was unbearable, but the idea of being killed here and now was worse. That was the only thing keeping him in the fight. He already knew there wasn't going to be a "win" from just the agony, but he had to force a condition where he could retreat. He couldn't even touch his ear like this, the assault was too relentless for him to get that second or two of time to yell out the exact words.

With Bambusa's weapon in his hands, he instinctively just swung it like a bat, slamming it into the Father's head and sending the cultist stumbling back as his focus returned to Moroides, who had been waiting, in stance. One knee bent forward, the other leg crouched down and bent at the foot. His right hand raised, palm facing up, while his left hand was open, palm facing down and arm across his midsection.

"Gympie-Gympie. One touch is like getting struck by lightning. That burn's not going away for a long, long time." His stern face stretched into a grin.

"You're going to die in agony."

"No one's dying," Chris wheezed out, yanking out his surujin, the chain clinking and clanging as he whipped it forward in the same drawing motion.

"But you're going down!" The meteor hammer's chain coiled around Moroides' arm, and Flowstate yanked him close. From there, it was time to get a foothold. To lay some sort of hurt and make as wide of an opening as possible. Aikijujutsu is not aikido. Aikido is built around just parries and grappling. There are very few strikes, and they're primarily used for unbalancing or overwhelming opponents. Aikijujutsu is not karate.

Karate was a formalized sport that inherited ideas from Aikijujutsu, and while it could be lethal, it was a style of the privileged Okinawan royalty as exercise. Aikijujutsu is not a sport. Aikijujutsu is the lineage of techniques the samurai used to beat each other to death when they lose their swords. It was the methods those who sold their lives into service of higher ideals used to come and collect on the lives of others who made similar deals.

There were not only strikes, there were strikes with the express purpose of making sure that even if they lost, their enemies could only barely limp away. Flowstate allowed himself to strike anywhere that wouldn't maim. A whole body was more likely to listen to interrogation than a crippled one. So he targeted the soft areas that did not leave lethal damage. Repeated punches and elbows to the solar plexus. Shins and palm-heel strikes to the groin. Punches and knees to the underarms.

Leo was the type who could end a fight in one punch, from just raw strength. Chris was in good shape. He had muscle. But he wasn't physically strong. That's not what aikijujutsu hones you for. It was for getting as much force out of a body that was meant to strike through armor. On an unarmored man, even with a well-honed body, Flowstate's well-trained strikes were like a hundred Leos raining down hellfire upon one man.

But with the inability to make that definitive blow, needing to rely on wearing the enemy down, it was taking too long. Bambusa seemed to still be unconscious from the strike to the head. A common circumstance to a sudden blow to the temple. Likely a concussion, though he wasn't sure for how long that would last. Moroides kept stumbling back and recoiling from each blow. A touch may be lethal, but Chris' hands were gloved.

So long as he was covered, there was no way for a follow-up strike to add on to the burning that was tearing at his mouth and face, climbing along his skin slowly. Another punch to the solar plexus sent Moroides back another step as he clutched an arm. Flowstate didn't think anything of it. That was a mistake. Moroides swept his palm along his forearm, before blowing into the palm of his hand towards Chris. He could see, in the light, little glints of fine material.

But by the time he noticed it, due to his labored breathing, it was too late. The lightning that was striking his face was no longer just on the surface level. It was in his mouth. It was in his sinuses. It was in his ears. He could feel it behind his eyes, in his chest, in his stomach. His lungs were rioting in agony. Moroides hadn't recovered yet from the blow, but this was the fail-state that if Chris stuck around for, he would die. He knew it.

Every survival instinct in him was screaming to run, or he would die horribly. A panicked dash away from the two Fathers and back down the road he took, he brought a hand to his ear.

"Glebb-!" Even just letting his tongue touch the roof of his mouth was like the skin being torn off entirely. He had to accept his words being slurred.

"Trugg! Trugg!"

"Understood. We're getting you out of here." Behind him was Moroides and a couple of the ADU terrorists, who were starting to squeeze off shots toward him, but either a lack of training or Chris' own unpredictable movements resulted in missing. His solace came when the van pulled up in front of him, and the passenger window rolled down, expelling a hail of gunfire from Billy's own rifle. This was enough for the ADU to back away as Chris climbed into the vehicle.

They drove off, the hero Flowstate broken and humiliated.