Stan's mastery was operating at full capacity. But they were still faster than he could match.
The realization landed in the back of his mind with cold, precise clarity. He was blocking their attacks. He was intercepting their strikes. He was doing better than any modern human had any right to do against beings of this caliber. But they were playing with him.
They had not, in any meaningful sense, actually been trying to hurt him.
The specific, stinging humiliation of the moment cut through his focus.
He gritted his teeth and pushed harder, his body accelerating fractionally, his strikes carrying more weight, his blocks becoming more aggressive counters. The mastery in his mind supplied every technique it had. He was, by any honest measure, fighting at the peak of what his current physiology could produce.
The four men laughed hysterically...
'They're laughing...' Stan gritted his teeth...
