Watching the orbs of energy form in Jett's hands, Lucas knew he had little time to act. Magic, or sheer energy. Regardless of it's composition, he had no technique to rival it... at least, not as short on breath as he was at the moment.
As they were thrown, he bent his knees, like coiling a spring, and fired them, flipping backwards. Upside down, he spun in mid-air, snapping out a spinning kick that broke off the top portion of the stone spire he had stood astride.
One hand grabbed for the pointed end, and landing in a crouch, he brought the solid stone up in front of him, like a shield, as the orb slammed against it.
Dust enveloped him, and he had a feeling the tatooed newcomer would be similarly blinded, if he survived. Now was the time to make a move. Still holding the jagged tip of the spire, though the orb had shattered most of it, he flipped it over in his hand, holding it like a knife, and took three steps backwards, out of the dust cloud.
He needed a breath of fresh air.
Still hidden from his enemies by the cloud, he opened his mouth and sucked deeply, tiny pores on his skin doing likewise, sucking in as much oxygen as he could in a few seconds.
Then, he was a blur of motion, propelling himself by blasting the gathered oxygen from Stoma on his back. He shot through the cloud with enough speed and force to punch a hole through the dust, a ghostly, shimmering afterimage tracing his movements: a vacuume, as he took in air through his body while moving.
Pulling his legs up, he let himself drop to one knee, sliding at the same terrific speed, until he was directly beneath Jett. Laying back into the slide, he planted his hands against the ground and pushed off, launching himself into the air, one leg vertical, a rising flying kick, zeroing in on Jett's face like a cruise missle.
