How many hits could he take?
Twenty?
No, must be thirty by now and increasing every second.
The burly, giant-no, monster–mounted me before he could react. Trying to block the desperate claws, there was never going to be a moment when the barrage would pause.
The beast screamed a roaring laugh, guttural and gurgling, as each crack bounced against my tight guard.
Fifty.
Not an inch closer to slowing down.
But my guard was as solid as a diamond.
Just a few more.
Sixty!
The adrenaline started, and my fists sang with the ripping of the wind.
Fists born of fury, carved from mountains and steel trenches–
Fists hungry for blood.