The giant was on his feet by the time Clubs reached the field.
He stood in the middle of a crater he'd made with his own body, grass and dirt piled up around him in a ring. His shirt was gone, burned and torn away, and there was a dark bruise spreading across the center of his chest in the shape of two fists. Blood ran from his nose into his beard. His breathing was rough and wet.
But he was still holding the club, and he was still grinning.
"That hurt," he said.
"Good." Clubs slowed to a walk, rolling the lollipop to the other side of her mouth. "It was supposed to."
She stopped ten meters from him. The road was far behind her now, a long strip of fire and noise and screaming. Out here, there was only wind moving through the grass and the two of them.
He looked past her at the distance she'd put between them and the crowd, and his grin faded a little as he understood.
"You were holding back," he said.
"I told you I was."
"I thought you were bluffing."
