Julyan began to bounce lightly on his feet, mimicking the movements of the boxer in front of him. The fighter grinned, thinking he had the upper hand. “Oh, so you box too?” he taunted, starting to bounce as well.
Julyan shook his head with a playful smile. “I’m just trying it out for the first time.”
“Look at them! They’re moving exactly the same, like mirror images,” one of the onlookers said, swallowing hard in disbelief.
“Is he copying our guy?” another asked, doubt creeping into his voice.
The leader smirked, dismissing the idea. “There’s no way he can match our guy just by watching. Not unless he’s been through serious training.”
“I don’t know what’s happening, but get ready for round two!” the fighter declared, charging at Julyan once more.
As the fight resumed, it was like watching two boxers in perfect sync, except for one crucial difference: while the fighter’s punches failed to connect, Julyan’s mirrored strikes landed with precision. Each time the fighter threw a jab or a hook, Julyan would replicate the move with uncanny accuracy, his punches landing softly but effectively, as if he were merely playing with his opponent.
The spectators were left speechless, their eyes wide with disbelief. One of them even rubbed his eyes, trying to ensure he wasn’t seeing things. The scene before them defied logic, as Julyan continued to toy with the fighter, his movements both a reflection and a counter to every attack thrown his way.
Baldy, visibly irritated. “What’s happening here?” A gangster with deep-set eyes asked, his voice laced with curiosity and confusion.
“I don’t know!” Baldy snapped, frustration evident in his tone. He then turned to the leader, “Get serious! Our guy’s getting pummeled out there.”
Julyan paused, gesturing for the battered fighter to stop. The man’s face was swollen, his nose bleeding, and the arrogance had vanished from his eyes as he looked at Julyan.
“This has become uninteresting at all,” Julyan remarked, glancing at the other men. “Hey, help your friend out. He seems to be struggling,” he taunted, a playful smirk on his face.
The men clenched their fists, looking to their leader for guidance. The leader nodded, giving them the go-ahead.
Four men stepped forward, stretching their shoulders as they prepared to fight. One of them sneered at Julyan, “You think you’re tough? We’re way stronger than the guy you just faced.”
Another chimed in, “Yeah, you got lucky with him. But we’re on a whole different level.”
The third added, “You’re about to find out what real power looks like.”
The fourth man cracked his knuckles, grinning confidently. “Let’s see how you handle all of us,” he challenged, as they surrounded Julyan, ready to prove their superiority.
Julyan’s grin widened as he faced his new opponents, who looked strong and ready. “I hope you don’t disappoint me,” he said, excitement evident in his voice.
His companion, watching from the sidelines, was trembling with agitation, biting his nails nervously. The four men smirked as they surrounded Julyan, bouncing lightly on their feet and getting into their fighting stances. Now, five of them encircled him.
Julyan scanned them, as if deciding who to target first. He smiled and turned to one of them, mimicking his form and matching his movements. The man laughed, “I like that. You’re copying me. But let’s see how far you can go!”
With that, the five attacked in alternation, launching a coordinated assault. Yet, Julyan remained unfazed, dodging their strikes with ease, a wide, almost maniacal grin on his face. He seemed to thrive in the chaos, his blood pumping with excitement.
“He’s a real fighting junkie,” thought Julyan’s companion, observing the wild look in his eyes.
As the five continued their relentless attack, Julyan focused on the man he had chosen to mimic. He watched his moves closely, evading the flurry of punches and combos from the group. Soon, he had mastered the man’s style, mirroring it perfectly. Each time a punch came his way, Julyan would dodge and return the strike using the same technique, reflecting the man’s own moves back at him.
As the fight progressed, Julyan began to mimic the styles of the other fighters, one by one. With each successful imitation, he delivered a precise punch, leaving his opponents reeling. He switched styles randomly, making it impossible for them to predict his next move.
Frustration and fear crept into the group as they struggled to land a hit. “Is this guy even human?” one of them thought, panting heavily, his face bruised and swollen from Julyan’s counterattacks.
“How is he doing this? He’s just copying us, but better,” another muttered, wiping blood from his nose.
“He’s not just talented; he’s something else entirely,” a third one whispered, his voice tinged with awe and fear.
Baldy stood up, irritation etched on his face as he watched the scene unfold. He couldn’t understand why his men were struggling so much. ‘Are my men weak, or is this Mr. Hawk just that good?’ he wondered, doubt creeping into his thoughts.
Even the leader was puzzled. He had never seen their team struggle against a single opponent before, especially when they had defeated dozens in the past.
Julyan laughed, excitement dancing in his eyes. “Why don’t you use your special techniques? I’m getting bored if this is all you’ve got,” he taunted, shaking his head with his arms raised, as if unimpressed by the five.
Annoyed, one of the five spoke up, “Don’t blame us for being ruthless!” With that, he shifted into a new stance, resembling a mantis.
The others followed suit, each adopting a unique form:
Mantis Style: The first fighter’s stance was low and fluid, his arms mimicking the swift, precise movements of a praying mantis. This style was known for its quick, slicing strikes and deceptive feints, designed to catch opponents off guard.
Rabbit Style: The second fighter bounced lightly on his feet, his movements reminiscent of a rabbit’s agility. This style emphasized speed and unpredictability, allowing the fighter to dart in and out of range with rapid, hopping motions.
Serpent Style: The third fighter’s form was sinuous and flowing, his body undulating like a snake. This style focused on flexibility and evasion, using smooth, coiling movements to slip past defenses and strike with precision.
Crane Style: The fourth fighter stood tall and balanced, his arms extended gracefully like a crane’s wings. This style was characterized by its elegance and control, utilizing long, sweeping strikes and powerful kicks to maintain distance and dominate the battlefield.
Julyan’s grin widened as he observed their forms, nodding with genuine interest. He was eager to see how these styles would play out in their attack. “Let’s see what you’ve got,” he said, bracing himself for the oncoming assault.