chased them down. These “other” people were easy to escape and fight, so easy that after learning what happened and what they really were, he opted to further enhance his skill by fighting them regularly. He only hoped that one day he would find a way home.
The air danced across his naked chest. He mentally checked his feet; they were planted yet light, and he could move at a moment’s notice if he had to. His knees were slightly bent beneath his black pants.
The buzzer sounded and the lights went on.
The iron ring lit up.
And the dead began to rise.
This one was different than the others Bruce had seen. It had the deep gray bags under its eyes like the Shamblers, but had pasty white skin like the Sprinters. A hybrid? Did they crossbreed? Could they crossbreed or did someone else make them?
I have no fear of opponent in front of me, he thought then transferred that thought throughout his entire being. I have made up my mind and you’d better kill me before—
The buzzer sounded and the creature’s restraints clanged to the ground.
Bruce brought his hands up, on guard, and calmly eyed his opponent. He had to be ready for anything. He knew the Sprinters’ and the Shamblers’ ways inside and out since he’d been studying them. But this one . . . this one was different. Whomever made it—if they hadn’t made themselves—might have even made it just for him. Every other one of the dead’s number he had obliterated in under a minute, the Shamblers often in under ten seconds.
The creature took a step toward him. Immediately Bruce slid his foot along the floor, keeping his weight balanced, body guarded, ready for anything. Side-stepping in a circle, Bruce evaded the first lunge from the creature. The thing growled as it missed and quickly swatted a meaty hand toward him. Bruce slapped it down and instinctively his foot flashed out, connecting squarely under the zombie’s chin from the side. The thing’s head snapped back, the rear of its skull lulling over the back of its shoulder blades for a moment before slowly righting itself.
The crowd roared.
Bruce moved in to make quick work of the creature with a swift back fist to its head. He struck the thing’s temple, knocking the head to the side. The zombie’s arms lashed out. One hand swatted him in the shoulder, sending him briefly off balance. The other caught him by the neck. Bruce grabbed its wrist with one hand, snapped another back fist to under the thing’s arm with the other, then quickly took advantage of the creature’s momentary looseness and did a straight arm bar where the zombie’s shoulder met its torso, twisted and folded its arm and shoved the creature to the floor.
Before the zombie landed backward with a wet thud, Bruce was already in the air. The moment the back of the dead man’s skull cracked when it hit the cement, Bruce landed on its ribcage and with a loud, jaguar-like growl, squished the zombie’s lungs.
The audience went silent.
It appeared the fight was over much quicker than everyone had anticipated.
Bruce eyed them all.
A small vibration in his foot let him know all was not what it seemed. The zombie grabbed his ankle with one hand and pressed against his knee with the other, sending him tumbling back. He hit the concrete hard. About to flip his legs under him to get up, he was swiftly knocked down again by the zombie, who shouldn’t have been able to get to its feet so quickly.
The monster got on top of him and dropped its weight over him. Just before the creature’s head descended to meet his own, Bruce got a forearm against the thing’s neck. He pushed against the creature’s weight with all he had. Snapping jaws surged forth then retreated in front of his eyes, every push against the creature getting harder and harder.
Bruce let go with everything he had and sent a sharp left hook across the creature’s head. Black blood splooshed out of its mouth. The force was enough to allow him to pull his other arm away from
The air danced across his naked chest. He mentally checked his feet; they were planted yet light, and he could move at a moment’s notice if he had to. His knees were slightly bent beneath his black pants.
The buzzer sounded and the lights went on.
The iron ring lit up.
And the dead began to rise.
This one was different than the others Bruce had seen. It had the deep gray bags under its eyes like the Shamblers, but had pasty white skin like the Sprinters. A hybrid? Did they crossbreed? Could they crossbreed or did someone else make them?
I have no fear of opponent in front of me, he thought then transferred that thought throughout his entire being. I have made up my mind and you’d better kill me before—
The buzzer sounded and the creature’s restraints clanged to the ground.
Bruce brought his hands up, on guard, and calmly eyed his opponent. He had to be ready for anything. He knew the Sprinters’ and the Shamblers’ ways inside and out since he’d been studying them. But this one . . . this one was different. Whomever made it—if they hadn’t made themselves—might have even made it just for him. Every other one of the dead’s number he had obliterated in under a minute, the Shamblers often in under ten seconds.
The creature took a step toward him. Immediately Bruce slid his foot along the floor, keeping his weight balanced, body guarded, ready for anything. Side-stepping in a circle, Bruce evaded the first lunge from the creature. The thing growled as it missed and quickly swatted a meaty hand toward him. Bruce slapped it down and instinctively his foot flashed out, connecting squarely under the zombie’s chin from the side. The thing’s head snapped back, the rear of its skull lulling over the back of its shoulder blades for a moment before slowly righting itself.
The crowd roared.
Bruce moved in to make quick work of the creature with a swift back fist to its head. He struck the thing’s temple, knocking the head to the side. The zombie’s arms lashed out. One hand swatted him in the shoulder, sending him briefly off balance. The other caught him by the neck. Bruce grabbed its wrist with one hand, snapped another back fist to under the thing’s arm with the other, then quickly took advantage of the creature’s momentary looseness and did a straight arm bar where the zombie’s shoulder met its torso, twisted and folded its arm and shoved the creature to the floor.
Before the zombie landed backward with a wet thud, Bruce was already in the air. The moment the back of the dead man’s skull cracked when it hit the cement, Bruce landed on its ribcage and with a loud, jaguar-like growl, squished the zombie’s lungs.
The audience went silent.
It appeared the fight was over much quicker than everyone had anticipated.
Bruce eyed them all.
A small vibration in his foot let him know all was not what it seemed. The zombie grabbed his ankle with one hand and pressed against his knee with the other, sending him tumbling back. He hit the concrete hard. About to flip his legs under him to get up, he was swiftly knocked down again by the zombie, who shouldn’t have been able to get to its feet so quickly.
The monster got on top of him and dropped its weight over him. Just before the creature’s head descended to meet his own, Bruce got a forearm against the thing’s neck. He pushed against the creature’s weight with all he had. Snapping jaws surged forth then retreated in front of his eyes, every push against the creature getting harder and harder.
Bruce let go with everything he had and sent a sharp left hook across the creature’s head. Black blood splooshed out of its mouth. The force was enough to allow him to pull his other arm away from
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