Garp looked at the restless mass of mixed energy on Lorne's fist, and the corners of his mouth lifted.
"Finding the frequency is the first step."
He held up two fingers.
"The second step is making your will maintain that frequency steadily."
"How do I maintain it?"
"Simple."
Garp took up his fighting stance again.
"Keep taking a beating."
"Until your body remembers that rhythm before your brain does."
Lorne exhaled a ragged breath tinged with blood.
Golden flames of aura rose from his body, and his Grit reserves were already approaching ninety percent.
The invisible blood reservoir inside him had almost been filled by the beating.
A few more punches, and it would overflow.
"Old man."
Lorne raised his fists again, black-red and gold still churning over his knuckles.
"I have a feeling."
"What feeling?"
"A few more punches, and I'll be able to pull it off."
Garp bared his teeth in an unreserved grin.
"Then show me!"
He took a step forward.
The air shuddered.
"Just how far can these fists of mine push you, brat?"
Lorne's beast ears stood erect, and Grit seethed inside him.
When the next punch came, he would try to pour that four-beat rhythm into his counterattack.
Garp's fist came hurtling toward his face with a shriek of air.
Lorne didn't dodge.
His beast ears caught that frequency: contract, expand, contract, release.
Four beats, as clear as if they were carved into his bones.
But this time, he wasn't taking the blow.
"Old man."
Lorne drew his right fist back to his waist, golden flames of Grit flowing along his arm toward his knuckles.
The invisible blood reservoir inside him gave off a piercing hum. His Grit was full.
The golden flames abruptly transformed.
Black-red arcs of lightning burst from his fist and