I couldn’t see clearly anymore.

The world was now a blurred, violent stain of color and pain. My ribs ached. My legs wouldn’t hold me up. Blood stained my lips. Every breath tasted like rust and dirt.

But I was still fighting.

Still swinging, even if blindly.

My stick had snapped long ago. My arms were bruised, scraped raw. My head throbbed so hard I thought it might split open like a coconut.

As for the masked man, he was still standing.

Still smirking. Still speaking with that eerie ...