Duality;Solaris Vol. 1

Chapter 4-2: Rock'n'Roll

The two now practically face to face, no time is wasted on pointless deliberation. Aiming for the head, the suit swings. Left.

*Kuuuu*

Then, right.

*Kuuuu*

Face to face, the suit is stuck. Fists sunken into the aging brick with only the slippery assailant standing in between the two. This was unbelievable, how could he have missed? The suit's baffled—bewildered even—to missing such a golden opportunity. This rattled the suit, yet the assailant knew what the suit's mistake ultimately happened to be. Although the assailant had nowhere to run, the suit had little in the way of range. While the suit might have something crawling underneath that is beyond the assailant's understanding, that cannot make up for something that the suit lacks: combat skills. Specifically hand-to-hand skills, of which the assailant noticed. As the suit threw his fists, he did not twist his body nor have the range to do so as close as he got to him. Thus, when the suit threw his left, it landed to the left— and the same with the right. All the assailant had to do was dodge them just late enough for the suit to be unable to course correct his two chances. Far easier said than done, not to mention the sharp, curved spikes that could be used after the fact. All the same, a man with tunnel vision is best used against his options. So, as his best—if only—option, dodge.

Nevertheless, now the assailant finds himself in almost an equally precarious situation. But, a precarious position with a crystal advantage. Stuck between two trapped fists of an unprotected opponent facing him, the move's all his. Yet, it's a move most crucial. Whatever lashing he launches back, it needs to be enough to end this brawl here and now. The assailant peeks left and right at the fists dug into the same brick wall caressing his padded back. The skin on the suit's hands were unmistakably cut up and bloodier, yet the stuff bulging underneath had the same geometric rigidness as the brick they are stuck inside. It felt as if some pieces were falling into place, the metaphorical puzzle becoming more and more relatable to him— in an obtuse, strange way. Still, this is but the suit's hands and forearms, and they have been rendered inaccessible for the perfect shot. Figuring that the suit would be capable—hopefully, more open—to answering some of his previous questions, the assailant take his shot. Holding onto the hope that knocking the fire out of this fit, suited man would do them some good, the assailant raises his leg and kicks.

*Krrcckk*

A mushy cracking rings out. Reverberating off the enclosed, chill alley walls, it was shortly followed by the quietest, chilling whimper from the leg's owner. The assailant's kick connected with the suit's crotch, yet it isn't the suit that winces.

"Soc Au' Lait! Okay. Okay. You really went there, didya? Figured you might. Fixed up a lil' surprise, just in case.", the suit snidely proclaims within his own vindication to himself. As evident from the embarrassed blush to the fractured ankle underneath his nethers, it's more than just his arms that can solidify when necessary. Thinking back on it, this made more sense to the assailant. It would explain the slowing pace of the suit's speed, the grimace intensifying, and, probably most damning, the painful grunts growing since landing back onto solid ground. What he kick clearly wasn't what he intended, the fact that this suited man's legs could follow in tow of such marvels was a huge miscalculation on his part— and one he would pay greatly for. The boulder-like bulking over his thigh muscles are as protective as they are offensive; holding the suit still, he leans back into these rock-hard exo-muscles as he preps for a satisfying finishing blow to his assailant.

Unable to keep the spite back, an ounce of the suit's former shine returns before the strike. "Even with your cheap tricks, you weren't going to best me. It's okay.", says the suit with a menacing smile.

Looking nearly eye-to-eye, the suit launches his attack! From the power of the additional weight, the suit rams in for a devastating headbutt. As smoother formations bulge at the center of the suit's forehead, the speed and, now, compacted advantages prove more than daunting to the assailant— detrimental even. Accompanied with his only allies—a broken elbow and fractured ankle—the situation looks grim— a situation he knows he's to blame for. So, what better than lean into them. Dealing only in a handful of seconds to work with, the assailant reacts.

Collapsing onto the alleyway ground, the suit's head craters the brick wall with his greeting. The assailant's impulse worked, he escaped the incoming cranial welcoming. By simply falling down to his bum, he avoided his trappings and gained an advantage he longed for. Nevertheless, he isn't out of the weeds yet. The space between the suit's legs is thin and the splattering of protective pads across the assailant's body made sliding far more difficult than normal. If he is going to escape between the suit's spread-leg stance, it'll have to be in one fell swoop. Placing his healthier hand on the brick wall behind him, the assailant angles his body just right for the best case scenario.

'One'. The assailant counts mentally as he scraps across the questionably damp cement of the alleyway. The scraps bounce off the enclosed walls.

'Two'. Sitting sideways, the assailant focuses on the gap in front of him. Cutting all distractions out from his peripheral, he's as ready as he can be. Yet, this comes with some consequences better meant to be noticed.

'Three'. The suit's blood-tinted eyes are staring daggers from up above. The assailant pushes off from the wall with all the force that he could muster. The low scraps of his pads evolve into loud screeches sliding across the pavement as if it were a chalkboard and nail. The suit reacts in turn. Closing his stance as swiftly as his weighted legs could move, the assailant's lighter approach wins him a few paces in front of the curve. The assailant successfully slides through his chosen escape, and into a position to change the tide of battle.

Left with his back exposed and most of his appendages unavailable, the suit knows he's to be at the mercy of the man that has inexplicably been following him for the better part of the day. Nevertheless, his mysterious pursuer—his assailant—also isn't in the best of shape either. Facing the incurred injuries of the past dozen minutes, the assailant struggles up to his sole, healthy foot for several more. Neither close to being the pinnacles of health at their current standings, this curtails into an unexpected advantage both know to be true. The truth is that this increased lapse gives them more time to think, and, thus, more time to strategize. Yet, these strategies are forced to be limited. Both know that their own bodies cannot hold on much longer— let alone each others.

As the assailant stands behind the suit, he acts. He acts in a way neither have had the chance to try yet. "Where is the man with the ouroboros arm tattoo?", the assailant demands. He talks.