Bully Lord

Part-57

James' breath hitched in his throat. Survive for three minutes without using any skills?  This wasn't a test of his newfound knowledge; it was a deliberate attempt to sabotage him.  The System, ever manipulative, was throwing a wrench into the works, forcing him to fight with one hand tied behind his back.

Now that he thinks about it, this was the first time the system gave him another mission without completing the previous one. Well, he doesn't have time to think about that right now.

Panic threatened to consume him. Three minutes against Sourov, a seasoned martial artist, with no ability to use his training? It seemed like an impossible feat. The thought of public humiliation, the potential injury the penalty warned of, it all swirled in his mind like a dizzying vortex.

With a deep breath, James lowered his stance, adopting a more defensive posture.  He wouldn't attack, not directly.  But he wouldn't be a sitting duck either.  He would use his agility, his newfound awareness, to evade Sourov's attacks, to prolong this impossible fight for as long as possible.  Three minutes.  That was all he had to do. 

Sourov, clearly confused by James' lack of aggression, hesitated for a moment.  Then, with a roar, he lunged forward, a powerful Judo throw aimed at sending James sprawling to the ground. James, fueled by adrenaline and a desperate urge to survive, twisted out of the way at the last second, the force of the missed attack whipping past him.

The crowd, initially buzzing with anticipation, fell silent, stunned by the unexpected turn of events.  James, sweat beading on his forehead, knew this wouldn't last.  He had to keep moving, keep thinking, or three minutes would feel like an eternity. 

The fight descended into a frantic ballet of evasion and desperation. James, fueled by a cocktail of adrenaline and defiance, danced around Sourov's attacks, relying on the remnants of his pre-System karate training. He remembered a basic block – a rising forearm to deflect a blow – and used it to nudge away a powerful right hook aimed at his jaw. But Sourov, a bull in a china shop, was relentless.  His sheer size and strength made James' karate maneuvers seem like the flailing of a fly against a windshield.

James felt a searing pain erupt in his shoulder as Sourov landed a glancing blow. He stumbled back, the taste of blood metallic on his tongue. Panic gnawed at the edges of his newfound resolve. Three minutes felt like an eternity, each tick of his internal clock hammering a death knell.

He glanced at the crowd, their faces a mix of confusion and morbid curiosity. A part of him craved their support, their cheers to fuel his unlikely resistance. But another part, a part hardened by the System's manipulations, knew this was a fight for his own survival, not a crowd-pleasing spectacle.  

Just as Sourov lunged for another attack, a memory flickered in James' mind.  It wasn't a fancy martial arts technique, but a trick from his childhood, something he and his friend Ben used to pull on each other after watching Jackie Chan movies.  A desperate gamble, but it was all he had.