Free Agent M: Testament (The Agent M Series Book 2) by L.M. Vila

airborne. Losing his footing in this manner would create new challenges for mounting a proper offense on top of holding a tight defense.
    Fists crashed against Michael’s ascending body. Ryoo hadn’t bothered to let up. He followed up his charge with a series of quick but powerful blows straight to the midsection. Michael desperately wanted to clench his aching sides but instincts took over the use of his hands. A resounding spinning backhand nearly took his head off. Bones cracked violently as knuckles crashed together turning the light brown tint of skin into a pale white crust swimming in a sea of red. And that’s all it took to convince Michael that this opponent is more than he bargained for.
     
    Excessively fast strikes continued to pummel the undercover FBI agent’s frame barely a second after his feet finally landed back on the ground.  Ryoo continued to thrash, throwing punches and kicks with a heightened ferocity and speed that Michael almost couldn’t match. Every oncoming blow tenderized the cellular tissues in his arms that begged his brain to give them attention. Michael tried to find a way in through the mess but Ryoo’s attacks blurred before his eyes. This man attacked like he had twenty appendages instead of four and Michael was forced on the defensive without even a sliver of breathing room.
    Michael’s knee exploded, shattering his once titanic stance and driving him down onto the searing joint. This horrendous pain reminded of Michael of his grievous mistake. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to relish in those thoughts. Ryoo blasted his chest with a swinging roundhouse kick that sent Michael’s body spinning and skidding against the horrendously dense and gritty surface. Every gram of loose rock left an imprint on Michael’s chemically enhanced and thickened skin. Dashes of pink scratches covered the exposed curves of his muscles in a patchy mess. Thankfully the blow left Michael’s senses intact or he wouldn’t have the wherewithal to notice what fate had in store for him next.
    Air quickly escaped the FBI agent’s throat as Ryoo’s heavy hand clasped it tightly. Fingers dug into the fibers of his skin ready to crush his Adam’s apple and the other surrounding bones that dared to defy this man’s strength. Michael was forced to his feet, gasping for the few atoms of oxygen that would sneak their way through to his lungs. The irony of this situation was beyond words. Michael always used this as a method to intimidate his adversaries which brought up a peculiar notion. Ryoo was going for the gutsy finishing blow but he is overlooking a fatal error. No one intimidated Michael.
    The crowd immediately went from viscous to hysteric. Ryoo signaled he intended to end this bout once and for all. Many begged to see Michael’s head torn clean off his body while a few select others were a tad more graphic and descriptive. One particular audience member asked to rip his still beating heart and squeeze it like a grape. With all of this gawking going on, Michael was surprised to see his adversary falling for it. Maybe he didn’t take the Yamatera’s lessons to heart. The most important of which is that victory is never fully achieved until your opponent is no longer breathing. Michael would gladly offer his personal expertise in this subject by administering a punishment Ryoo won’t soon forget.
    Pain exploded in Ryoo’s outstretched arm, releasing the death grip on Michael and forcing his elbow to bend. The chop worked brilliantly against the soft fibers of the cubital fossa. Michael used the edge of his hand like a knife and sliced it into the exposed nerves and veins.
    Like a rocket, Michael shot up his knee and cracked it against the weakened appendage. Bones clashed, vibrating immensely within the frames of their soft shells. Hearing Ryoo cries of agony cemented Michael’s judgments and confidence. He immediately pushed himself away in the hopes to catch a few more seconds to recuperate