They all rushed at me, a chaotic wave of bodies eager to swarm me. I let them come, baiting them closer, then unleashed the Guardian, expanding it outward with a violent pulse that blasted them off their feet, sending some of them crashing into each other with sickening thuds. As they struggled to regain their footing, I went on the offensive, my fists enveloped in the Guardian's energy, amplifying my punches. Each strike landed with a bone-crunching impact, sending them sprawling across the ground.
The first thing I realized was just how pathetically unskilled they were. They couldn't track my movements, couldn't even see my punches coming until they were already tasting blood. These people weren't even average. They fought like people who had never thrown a punch in their lives. So, why were they even trying to fight me? Did they really think sheer numbers would be enough to bring me down?
