Bang!
Saladin had barely pushed himself up from the rubble when a golden-red torrent of fury crashed toward him through the lingering dust.
It was Angron's fist—simple, direct, driven by the will to crush everything. Without a weapon, he would let his fists do the talking.
Saladin had no time to retrieve his scimitar, or even to stand all the way up.
His pupils contracted, and fighting instinct overrode everything else.
Faced with that direct onslaught of pure violence, he chose not to meet it head-on. His body bent backward with impossible suppleness, almost touching the floor. As he slipped past the fist, his right leg snapped up like a scorpion's tail and hooked behind the knee of Angron's supporting leg. A textbook opening for a joint lock.
But Angron reacted with astonishing speed.
Instead of retreating, he pressed forward. The muscles in his trapped leg bulged, forcibly breaking Saladin's hold. At the same time, he wrenched back his locked wrist, while his other fist hammered toward the flank Saladin had exposed by raising his leg.
Angron used the pure killing methods of the Gladiatorial Arena: never submit to a hold, only counterattack, trading injury for a kill.
Saladin twisted, released his grip, and abandoned the lock. His elbow struck like a spear, precisely hitting the inside of Angron's incoming wrist. As he deflected the force, he slipped like an eel, using the impact to spin around and close in behind Angron in an instant.
His arms wrapped around Angron's waist and one arm like iron bands. He engaged his core and twisted through his waist and back.
Crash!
Angron's enormous body was lifted clean off the floor, traced a short arc, and slammed down hard on the metal deck, back first!
The impact shook the entire stretch of corridor.