Uga wasn't suppressing anything.
He was enjoying himself.
And that made him dangerous.
The more they fought, the more he let loose.
His reactions became sharper. Faster.
And then—it changed.
It wasn't immediate.
But Michael noticed it.
The look in Uga's eyes. The shift in his movements.
Gone was the slightly clumsy footwork. Gone was the big goofy grin.
Now, Uga's shoulders were hunched. His feet stomped with force that cracked the stone. His eyes gleamed—not with madness—but primal instinct.
A beast.
Uga's barely-tamed forest instincts were beginning to emerge.
The years in the wild… the fights with monsters… the need to survive when everything around you wanted to eat you—it was in him.
It had never left.
Uga's next punch tore through the air with a scream, not of rage—but of joy.
Michael barely blocked it. The sheer force numbed his arm again.
Then another punch followed. Then another.
Uga didn't stop.
He didn't wait for an opening.
He just attacked.
