Punches Like Scattered Petals
At first, Shen didn't approach or move, simply remaining in one of the standard positions for kung fu and eyeing Zane warily - a gesture which the boy reciprocated, in a looser fighting stance of his own, almost like a boxer's stance with the fists up a little below the eyes.
The only real motion was that of Shen's chest rising and falling, as he breathed. At the distance of five meters, when Shen finally started to move, his approach wasn't sudden and unexpected or explosive - it was slow and measured, like a cobra slithering up to its prey, or a wolf moving at an oblique angle to attack its victim from the side. It was abrupt enough, however, that Zane was alerted and on the lookout for any physical tells that his uncle was about to strike. The distance between them decreased with a worrying pace, and Shen even tested Zane's reactions, stepping forth and then back, one or two steps outside of his reach, to see if Zane would charge, over-extend himself, or lunge desperately. He didn't do anything of the sort.
"Cheap," Zane simply commented, in a plain voice, standing motionless like a statue of firm stone against his uncle's tests. Shen didn't react.
Several moments passed, during which Shen and Zane observed each other, only three or four effective steps from being within striking range. All of this foreplay caused Zane to feel a little anxious, feeling a tight kind of energy in his calves, as if they were eager to jackhammer into the earth to release his pent-up uneasiness.
Desiring to rid himself of this concern, it was Zane who seized the initiative. He stepped forward once - and Shen backed away with raised eyebrows - then stepped forward again before his uncle finished the motion, and then hopped forward to create a brief opening to tempt Shen into striking, before hopping back out. Shen hadn't struck.
And back to watching one another.
"Man, this is fucking dumb," Zane said, lowering his guard slightly. "If we're just going-"
It was apparently the opportunity that Shen was after. As soon as Zane's fists came below the level of his chest, Uncle Shen practically leaped forward in a sacrificial lunge, gambling his own victory on the altar of speed. Zane barely reacted in time, moving back and then throwing his left hand up in a desperate block against the first punch, blocking the following second, third, and fourth. Shen threw a kick to follow-up but he was almost out of reach, and when Zane attempted to counter with his knee, Shen moved his leg away and stepped back away with a sudden thud of unbalanced footsteps. Shen looked briefly surprised.
"I can see you haven't been slacking, nephew," Uncle Shen said, carrying that note of surprise in his tone.
"Yeah. Pick something else than Tai Chi to fight me with," Zane responded as he chuckled cruelly. A bit of a joke - his uncle wasn't using Tai Chi in their last exchange of blows. Just the opposite, really.
And so, their fight started in earnest, right there. And like any of their fights, it was fast-paced, brutal, down-to-earth, and yet expertly calculated. As his uncle abandoned the principles of yielding to counters and making calculated blows, he started to fight more and more like a musician beating a drum in a steady, quick rhythm.
Zane was unsurprised to see that his uncle tried a few more cheap shots - the man had never subscribed to notions of honor in combat - including what might've been a particularly painful side-jab to the kidney and a palm blow made for the nose or throat. Zane expertly repelled each of the strikes, mostly by dodging or parrying them.
Every now and then, when Shen became too winded from his attacks, Zane would take the opportunity like a ruthless tiger leaping at the throat of an exposed herbivore, striking with decisive and powerful blows, extending his reach as much as possible; sometimes even stepping forward right as he struck, all to force his uncle to block, rather than evade; to batter his own arms and bruise them away to uselessness over time. Either he was too weak, or Shen simply fought through the pain, because this cycle repeated for a while longer, with Shen regaining his breath and moving in for another flurry of strikes as if unaffected.
But Shen's barrages weakened over time. As he continued to launch blows, one after another, they'd become weaker and slower; slow enough that Zane could sneak in a brutal response of his own, weave a punch between two blows in a combo, and occasionally even turn the tables.
As time passed, Shen needed to take longer and longer breathers, with his assault timeslot only reducing.
And in the stark end, neither Zane nor Shen landed one proper, decisive blow on another. It was a loss of stamina that caused Zane's uncle to raise a hand in surrender.
"I forfeit," Shen declared with ragged breath. The old man leaned down, hands supported on the knees, as he ventilated.
"Somehow, it doesn't feel as good as I expected it to," Zane said, walking to the side of the room and picking up a pair of water bottles brought from the kitchen. He tossed one in Shen's direction - his uncle managed to catch it without looking - and opened the other to have a drink.
"You've gotten better," Shen stated, "And I have only become older in the meantime. If we had fought a year ago, it would have been a far different outcome."
"Sure," Zane agreed with no sarcasm, willing to believe that. "Although it's clear I still don't outstrip you in the technique department. It's just that I'm younger. Better physique. You're like a decaying husk in comparison."
"Thank you for the reminder about my exalted age, and the incoming clarion of the underworld," Shen answered with a deep sigh, finally straightening up with one final breath. Sweat was pouring down the old man's forehead in unhealthy amounts. He opened the cheap plastic water bottle and splashed a bit of its contents on his face, before gulping down several, greedy mouthfuls of the liquid. As he was done, he put the cap back on the bottle and said, "If this keeps up, I might soon not be for this world."
"Leave me some of those bamboo plants as part of the inheritance. They're a good breed," Zane joked but noticed the grimace on his uncle's face hadn't disappeared. With a slow crease of worry, Zane asked, "Uncle, you alright?"
"Yes... Yes, I'm fine, Zane," Shen answered, slowly turning, grimace fading to neutrality. "Your words simply brought some discomfort to my heart, because they are a poisonous truth. I am rather like a decaying husk. My august years are long passed, and I am drawn in a loop of melancholy, attempting to relieve them. Perhaps rather than focusing on the immortality of the body, I should acquire an immortality of spirit." A small grin appeared on his face, indicating that he was joking in kind.
"Heh. Alright... Look..."
---
At the moment, you have 13.5 units of shining Ambrosia. A bit over halfway to an Epic Improvement. If you keep going at this rate, you might even have one before the next Arc properly begins - such a boon would be immeasurable, even if it doesn't stem from a Godcard!
[ ] Show Him Later [+2 Ambrosia] - "I think you don't have to worry about that for another good five years. Not with your workout routine."
Right now, Uncle Shen needs to run his restaurant and yell at his workers, not play around with Godcards. There isn't much point in showing the old man a supernatural ability which he'll reject to use anyway. It's not like any of your Godcards offer eternal youth or an improved bodily condition.
[ ] Show Him - "I did find something on the Zuchezzis back then, and I think it's magical."
Show Uncle Shen the Godcards you've looted and see what powers they will grant him.
Achievement Unlocked: Now, I Am The Master
- Defeat Uncle Shen in a duel.
*Instead of doubling your odds of victory, Brawler of Midwood triples them against opponents who are your superior in at least one form of combat. The combat form may be metaphorical or unofficial, such as improvised combat; or supernatural, such as telepathic combat.
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