Making Progress

The battle was fierce. Every breath Leo took felt like fire in his lungs, his body burning from exertion, but he refused to slow down.

His fists were bloodied, his knuckles scraped raw against the hardened chitin of his opponent—a towering mutant centipede, its segmented body writhing with unnatural speed, each movement accompanied by the sickening scrape of its legs against the cracked pavement.

The centipede lunged, its mandibles snapping just inches from Leo's face. He barely dodged in time, his body twisting with instinct honed by countless battles.

Without a weapon, without his skills, it was pure, unrelenting brutality. It was his fists against the hardened shell of a creature evolved for killing.

He ducked beneath another swipe of its venom-dripping mandibles, his muscles coiled tight.