[PREVIEW] Great Sage Above Brockton 2.10

The first blow determines the flow of battle. An axiom that has stood true throughout the ages. Colin had every intention of landing that first blow.

He jabbed his spear forward, aimed right at the cape’s sternum. Wukong parried the blow with his staff and tried to push him aside, only for his rocket boots to kick in and push him forward. When Wukong’s gaze diverted to the clashing weapons, Armsmaster pulled out another halberd and jabbed it right below his ribcage, its tip crackling blue with 10,000 volts. A tail whipped out and halted the weapon a hair’s length away from his black robes. 

“Please, expanding weapons are a tiresome repetition; attempt something original,” Wukong tutted, even as his knees buckled. Armsmaster didn’t rise to the taunt; truth was, he didn’t expect a strong reaction from Wukong, considering his own weapon. With a press of a button, smoke erupted from the first halberd’s point, surprising Wukong just enough for him to jerk back the spear and charge him again. A sudden gust of wind buffeted his armor as the monkey-man spun wildly and deflected both his blows, dispersing the smoke in his wake. Armsmaster quickly settled into a ready stance as Wukong rubbed his eyes with a furrowed brow. He would normally press his assault, but the circumstances were different with the new cape.

With a final shake of his head, Wukong opened his eyes and mock-glared at Colin. “Such trickery in an honorable duel?” he gasped. “Appalling to think one who is deemed a hero would rely on such dishonorable tactics!”

“It’s called being pragmatic,” the hero in question retorted. “I’m not taking any chances with you, and if it means using every weapon available in my arsenal, then so be it.”

From his observations, Wukong didn’t seem like the type to espouse honor, of all things, but for some reason, Armsmaster wasn’t surprised. If Wukong really was buying into his own cosplay, then it would make sense for him to adhere to some chivalric code, albeit one rooted in a Chinese mindset. His displays against the gangsters were rough and savage, yet with Shadow Stalker, Glory Girl, and even the occasional Ward he encountered on the street, he merely knocked them unconscious with a singular strike or left without a word. Glory Girl’s powerset might have required him to deal her a few extra bruises, but nothing to the extent he showed the ABB or the Empire.

Could he use this to his advantage? Insufficient data.

Yet again, however, the monkey replied in a manner opposite that, not by disparaging his actions, but with a mere shrug and dip of his head. “Wise words. A truly great warrior never allows the shackles of scripture to deny his choices in a fight.” The corners of his lips twitched upwards. “What you should ask yourself, armored one, is whether or not you will have enough tricks?”

Plenty.

The rocket boots ignited again, launching Armsmaster with blinding speed. He spun his halberds in a flurry of stings and swipes, weaving through Wukong’s parries and attacking every opening he could spot. As the sounds of steel rang in the air, Colin had to begrudgingly admit: his earlier assessments of Wukong’s prowess with the staff were woefully understated. He wasn’t just skilled; he was a master. No inch of the staff was left to waste, either by blocking his moves or clanging against his armor. Every pointless flourish kept him away, a slight graze meant destabilizing his balance, and each time he ducked under a swipe, his kinetic sensors screamed from the force behind it. While he was confident in his armor’s ability to handle high-level Brute strikes, the sheer strength behind the swings alone would knock him back and put him at a disadvantage.

Such finesse couldn’t be the result of powers alone. But if a cape of his skill was active for years, how come Watchdog didn’t find any trace of him?