Rouchi rolled away, scrambling to put distance between them, gasping for breath. "My regeneration is the fastest among the Franks," he sneered. "You cannot break me. No injury you inflict will last."
Ivanov felt the ache of his own wounds, the legacy of Rouchi's earlier assaults. He knew his strength was fading; if he didn't end this now, the wretch would outlast him. Rouchi charged again, but Ivanov darted away. Rouchi scoffed, mistaking the retreat for cowardice. But Ivanov wasn't fleeing; he was aiming. He drove his foot into the side of a building, using the wall as a springboard. He launched himself backward like a missile, driving his forehead into Rouchi's stomach with the force of a battering ram.
