Liu Xian didn't think—he moved.
He didn't have the luxury of trying to understand why Z-34—the bastard he'd shared a damn laugh with a moment ago—was now pointing a sword at him.
He rolled to the side just as the blade came crashing down, the steel biting into the dirt where his head had been a heartbeat ago. Dust sprayed into the air. His fingers shot instinctively toward his side only to grasp nothing. His sword was gone.
Before his mind even caught up, Z-34's boot came swinging.
The kick connected hard, right under his chin. His head snapped back, white light burst across his vision, and he hit the ground with a dull thud. Blood filled his mouth, hot and coppery, spilling out as he coughed.
"Fast reflex," Z-34 sneered, dragging his blade out of the ground with a sharp twist. "Guess you weren't faking that whole tough act after all."
Liu Xian didn't answer.
Couldn't, maybe.
His chest heaved, and he spat out blood, his body moving before his brain could line up thoughts.
