rule set, Ivan? Or is this an unsanctioned street fight? I need to establish the parameters of
engagement to determine how much damage I am legally allowed to inflict upon you."
The sheer, cold arrogance of the question made Ivan laugh out loud. It was a nervous laugh.
"No rules. You yield when you can't breathe anymore. I'm going to put you to sleep, Cross."
Ivan dropped into a wide, traditional fighting stance, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet,
his hands raised in a karate guard. He let out a sharp, theatrical shout—a kiai—and launched his
attack. He threw a flashy, spinning hook kick aimed squarely at Devonate's head. It was a move
designed for action movies and point-sparring tournaments. It was heavily telegraphed, committed
all his weight to a single motion, and left him entirely unbalanced.
To a Navy SEAL who had survived hand-to-hand combat in the pitch black of an Afghan cave,
it was practically in slow motion.
Devonate didn't flinch. He didn't even raise his hands to block. As Ivan's leg arched through
the air, Devonate simply stepped diagonally inside the arc of the kick, closing the distance in a
fraction of a second. Before Ivan's foot could complete its rotation, Devonate drove a brutal, open-
handed palm strike directly into the center of Ivan's chest, right over the solar plexus.
The impact sounded like a shotgun blast echoing in the room. The kinetic force stopped Ivan's
spinning momentum instantly, lifting his planted foot off the ground. All the air violently
evacuated Ivan's lungs in a strangled gasp. His eyes bulged in shock and sudden, agonizing pain.
As Ivan stumbled backward, clutching his chest and dropping his hands completely, Devonate
moved with lethal efficiency. He stepped forward, grabbing the thick lapel of Ivan's gi with his left
hand, yanking him forcefully forward to shatter his balance. Simultaneously, Devonate delivered a
devastating, muay-thai style leg kick to the side of Ivan's left knee.
A sickening pop resonated through the silent dojo as Ivan's lateral collateral ligament tore. Ivan
screamed—a high, reedy sound of pure agony—as his leg collapsed beneath him.
Ivan crashed to the mat, but Devonate wasn't done. He maintained his grip on the gi, stepping
over the fallen man. In one fluid motion, Devonate transitioned to the ground, trapping Ivan's right
arm and locking it into a tight, inescapable Kimura hold. Devonate pinned Ivan's chest to the mat
with his knee, cranking the arm behind Ivan's back. He applied just enough torque to the shoulder
joint to cause blinding pain without entirely tearing the rotator cuff.
The fight had lasted less than four seconds.
evonate turned his back on the weeping martial artist and walked calmly over to the
scattered papers. He picked up the manila folder, dusted it off, and walked over to