Mad Dog - IX

Zhang switches from defence to offence. He steps forth and mixes each stab with a shwing! of his cleaver.

Tearer blocks the attacks with his arms. Metal covers it in a protective layer, and the collision makes a sound like steel against steel.

Grr.

It's hard for me to get in. The space is tight, and the boy is positioning in a way that keeps us away from cornering him.

“Hup!”

Forced back to a table, the Tearer does a back flip, and lands on it. Zhang swings for his ankle. But the boy's faster speed gets him a kick to Zhang’s face, sending him stumbling.

Blood trails down Zhang’s noise, alongside the beggining of a black bruise. I look around the office space.

Objects.

Objects..

Throwable objects!

I take the pens left in a metal holder, and chuck them one by one at the Tearer. He catches two of them in his palm. Turning his attention upward—and missing Zhang’s rebound.

With an upward kick, the table flips, and the boy jumps with it. Hanging midair. Grabbing the mid-air table, Zhang slams it into the Tearer.

Whoosh!

The metal table creaks and bends. The boy flies across the room, into a glass cupboard. Pieces of it breaks and falls across him. Reflecting light like a fish’s scales.

“Get up,” orders Zhang. “I'm not done with you just yet.”

The Tearer smiles. A sad, happy smile, as his furry ears furrow. “I admire your love for your brother, Zhang. That I do. But I can't help but wonder where it stems from, since you never knew him as a child.”

Zhang lets out a groan. “Love? Don't get it twisted, you little bastard.”

“Hm?”

“Sure, I wanted to rekindle our relationship, but I can't love a guy I don't even know. I just came to fix that, and while I'm at it—kick his face in for leaving his loving parents.”

The Tearer freezes. For a moment, his eyes become glazed with confusion. Like prey processing an unknown factor.

“You're a pretty upstanding man, Zhang,” says the boy. “It's a shame the rest of China couldn't follow in your stead.”

The moment he says that, white steel-like teeth cover his arms, and the boy rises again. Rises with an effort. Of accumulated battles and wear.

“Can we postpone this fight, Zhang?” asks the Tearer, pleading with his tail, ears and voice.

“No.”

“Do you understand why I did all this… At all?”

“No, and I don't care to.”

Sad Tearer. “Shame.”