Chapter 25

  How the Turntables

  Ken stood gasping.

  I did not have constant vigilance.

  Choking on the metallic tang in the air.

  Shaking, as the adrenaline crash hit hard.

  Accept the pain.

  Neurons firing. Nothing else.

  Take stock.

  Can barely move right hand: definitely broken.

  Left arm doesn't want to bend: possible broken elbow.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Left ribs radiating pain: throbs horribly, not sharp, probably not broken.

  The fact that they were lying in ambush meant they predicted this path.

  Pursuit would be imminent.

  Ken bent over the corpses, ignoring the screaming agony.

  A vast, dense stream of chi struck like a bolt of lightning.

  Undeniably richer than any other he’d had yet.

  I desperately need it.

  He moved while it still poured in, a tail of white light trailing behind like a comet's tail.

  Moving east to throw off any pursuit, he eventually turned north to the creek.

  He plunged his upper body into the cold running water.

  Trying to clear his head and dampen the swelling.

  Pushing through the creek, and stumbling up to his hole, he collapsed against a rock wall.

  Water dripped from his tattered hoodie.

  Blood leaked from his battered body.

  “Caught by surprise. Outmatched. Overconfident.”

  “I was on my back foot that whole fight.”

  “I almost died like four times,” He chuckled softly.

  “I have a lot of work to do.”