His physical speed backed by three years of genuine development was not something to dismiss, and the pattern was well constructed.
Neil covered the first strike, slipped the angle of the second, and on the third he made a decision. Instead of pulling back to absorb it cleanly, he stepped forward into it and let the strike land across his shoulder while he moved inside Varn's space entirely.
One hand closed on Varn's collar.
The other drove a single controlled strike directly into his chest.
Varn left the ground.
He hit the far edge of the stage and caught himself just before going over the side, one foot hanging in the air for a moment before he pulled it back, and stood there with his chest rising and falling visibly and his eyes wide in a way he was not quite managing to control.
He looked across the stage at Neil, who had not moved from the spot where he had thrown the strike.
The hall was absolutely silent for a long moment.
Then it wasn't.
