Mad Dog - IV

He tries to smile reassuringly, and takes out three talisman paper—or fulu from his leather jacket. He then tosses them on the floor, raises his hand in some magical gesture, and utters a word.

“Huǒguǐ!” Fire Ghost.

Flame spits from the fulu, taking the shape of a person’s torso. Roaring. Singing the ceiling in spots of instant black. Long fingers and even longer arms flail around the torso, grabbing at anything nearby. All the while, its ribcage pumps with a heart of pure flame, with flickers and images of unrecognisable faces.

Me scared. Me think is wrong. Bad. Bad. Bad!

monkey brain take over monkey brain shake hand and body monkey brain almost keeps being monkey brain, until monkey eyes see surroundings start to catch fire, and the ambient heat invade monkey skin like needles.

Monkey brain dies.

Reflexively, I draw away and shield my eyes from the fire.

Fire burns. Fire hurts. Fire catches on a piece of something and becomes everything.

But, to my surprise, the man simply walks forward. Reaches out his hand and plunges it into the flames.

Poof.

Something magical happens. The fire recedes. Dies. Withers. Becoming smaller and smaller, until it turns into little more than sparks on the fulu, freezing in place with hiss like a pained cat.

“I am a Senior of the Eight-Virtue Sect. I am the Jingshui Zhang Jiangshi”—he switches to Japanese—“The Stillwater Palm Zombie. Prepare yourself for martial devastation.”

Zhang exhales and fidgets at the big man’s introduction. Jingshui dashes forth, exploding the plank he stood on into a shower of splinters.

I barely have the time to react. Despite his size, the man blurs—yes, blurs, like an automobile, coming straight at me. The only thing I catch is his extended fist and his general direction.

I run to my right, sort of falling, sort of not. His punch misses me—shhwuum!—like that!—like forcing the air itself into a ghostly wail. While trying to stand, I finally catch something around his fist. Like a bubble? A thin, black bubble, like the layer of oil on a nice stir-fry.

Zhang opens the lobby’s door. Light pours in from above, illuminating their expressions. They wish to run. I don’t.

I think of a strategy.

His name is Stillwater Palm, and he came at me with a punch. So, he’s a punch type. Top-heavy. Yeah. His hands are scary too, and have something weird around them, so don’t get touched by that.

Stillwater maintains an open stance. Legs spread wide. He shoots forward again.

I go for a low kick, swerving to his ankle. It makes contact. But it’s like hitting a brick wall; there’s no feedback, no gahhh! Just pure resistance, and a throb in my foot.

I pull back. Zhang throws two fulu forward, sending them to Stillwater’s right side.

Very good!

It’s just far enough to be out of Stillwater’s arms-reach, but close enough to burn him even so. Meaning he either has to deal with me, or the fulu! I have no doubt, this is Zhang’s plan, and I immediately follow the opening it gives me.

I lunge forward. Zhang extends his hand towards the fulu, seemingly intent on stopping it. I grin. I’m going to win! I’m going to tear this man a new hole, interrogate him, and find out who this Tearer is!

Crk.

I feel weightless. My head looks down. I notice the wooden plank I was standing on screwed upward, pressed down by the front of Stillwater’s foot. The sheer speed of it jerks me into the air, and I flail my arms for balance, only to remember I’m not a bird, and cringe.

As if weightless. As if made from hollow bones and lightweight muscle, Zhang climbs that wooden plank and thrusts his palm forward. It comes like the jaws of death, swift and almighty, pushing the air towards me like a current of hell.

Yeah. As the youth might say, I am totally f-worded.

The palm hits me straight in the chest. Shockwave! A circle of feeling engulfs me, starting strong and growing weaker as it spreads.

I know it’s the feeling of pain. I can recognise its sensation, and I can recognise how my adrenaline blocks it. I also know that it’s not enough feeling to put me down, and as I see Zhang’s palm make contact, I try to reach out and grab his wrist.

And then I realise.

My arm won’t move. Not even a bit. I don’t know exactly why, but even as I try to force the slightest twitch of muscle, nothing happens.

Blue fire shoots from Zhang’s fulu, engulfing the hall in a horizontal line. Stillwater dashes back, keeping out of its range. I fall to the ground, hearing the thump of bone against wood.

Mr Emo keeps behind Zhang, recording all this with a camera.

I grit my teeth in frustration. Well, I try to. But again, nothing happens. My teeth don't make contact. My jaw doesn't press upwards. My everything doesn't do anything I ask!

And then I realise something again, but this time, a bit more about what’s happening to me.

My whole body won’t move. I’m not even breathing. It's all frozen, like a fish in ice. Frozen—like I'm suspended in a bowl of absolute thickness, unable to push, pull, or turn against what's containing me.

Burnt wood breaks from the outside wall. Light streams from its hole, casting a harsh ray across the corridor.

Stillwater stops just before it. He turns his head to Mr Emo behind him, who nods, and rushes to the window.

“Oh hell you will!” Zhang moves just as fast.

He closes the gap between them, turns on his right foot, and kicks. It hits Mr Emo in the chest. And he flies backwards, grunting and moaning, splayed like a stomped banana.

Yuura crouches down, both arms angled down. She scoops me up in her arms, and makes a break out the building. At last, Zhang follows after her, and we make our way out, running away from the decisive battle.

The two bolt like a duo of monkeys. They bolt into the outside world, a world of many people, and not-far crowds. Moving out of the abandoned residence, and catching the eye of a few regular citizens. Barging into a world of public morals where even those gangsters do not follow.

They run. They run. They run!

I join their energy. Join their adrenaline and sense of communal power.

Full of excitement, it takes me a couple of minutes to remember something somewhat important.

Nobu is still missing.