Two figures were locked in a fierce battle in the corridor, exchanging blows at close quarters, each move swift, accurate, and ruthless, each punch impacting flesh.
Forsythia Brown had taken a rest for a while, contrasting with Mindo and the wolf enduring a prolonged fight; therefore, although at a clear disadvantage in combat skills, Forsythia managed to fight Mindo to a draw in a short time.
In the blink of an eye, twenty moves had passed.
When they separated again, it was Mindo who realized Forsythia's knee was heading for her solar plexus, forcing her to retreat in alarm.
Forsythia didn't come out of it unscathed either, her cheek grazed by the wind of Mindo's fists.
Fuck, that hurt.
Forsythia touched her cheek and spat out a mouthful of bloody spittle.
Mindo was now breathing slightly heavier, facing this woman who was far from an easy target.
Suddenly, Mindo grabbed Seema beside her and threw her towards Forsythia.
What kind of sick move was that?
