A heart-shaped tree standing in between human nature, and the nature we see
A torso hit? Really? Koa tenses against the blow, but otherwise isn't particularly phased: he can take torso hits in his sleep. Truth be told, little could phase the Dragoon in this moment, because in this moment he isn't a Dragoon. Koa has undergone an important shift, his usually compartmentalized personas blending into one as the boxer emerges from the shadow of the soldier, ready to strike and strike again.
And strike again he does, another one-two, though this time there's a little more finesse in the act. The first jab, you see, is a chest-height feint, designed to capture Octavius' attention. The second, more critical strike, is a mean right hook that swings directly into what he hopes will be an unprotected face, unafraid (and perhaps eager) to strike his jaw and perhaps have his opponent spitting blood. And it lands, too, with a sickening thud, lighting a fire of satisfaction that burns in Koa's copper eyes.
And then without further fanfare he turns, whistling to Pipsqueak, and walks away.
{Fin}
And strike again he does, another one-two, though this time there's a little more finesse in the act. The first jab, you see, is a chest-height feint, designed to capture Octavius' attention. The second, more critical strike, is a mean right hook that swings directly into what he hopes will be an unprotected face, unafraid (and perhaps eager) to strike his jaw and perhaps have his opponent spitting blood. And it lands, too, with a sickening thud, lighting a fire of satisfaction that burns in Koa's copper eyes.
And then without further fanfare he turns, whistling to Pipsqueak, and walks away.
{Fin}
Koa
