Flesh tore. Bones cracked beneath fists wreathed in heat.
Quinlan moved like a storm of combustion, heat bleeding from his skin, every breath thick with smoke. The air itself wavered around him, rippling from the waves of internal Qi building in his limbs.
The outlaws had formed ranks, but it did little to help them.
Form I: Initiate the Blaze.
He stepped into a grunt's guard and unleashed a flurry of rapid punches: one to the ribs, another to the gut, a third to the throat. Each strike was shallow but incredibly fast and perfectly timed.
The moment one landed, another followed. The pressure inside him surged with every connection, his speed rising exponentially with each heartbeat. Steam hissed from his pores. The last punch detonated against a man's chest with a sickening crack, and the bandit dropped like a sack of meat; eyes wide, mouth frothing, ribs caved inward.
"H-he's just one man!" a bandit screamed, backing up.
"No—he's a devil!"
Form II: No Escape.
