"I don't want to. I saw a cross when I was unconscious, Manny. A cross like you see on a church."
"Don't tell me about it. Get him, boy. Don't try to mix with him, but get him, with that left, with your speed, with your brain. Get him."
"I'll try. But he's not typical, Manny. They're not all like Nick."
"The hell they aren't. He's one of the better ones. Get him."
The buzzer, the bell, and Nick.
Nick with the iron jaw, Nick with the hook and the bulging shoulders, Nick the champion.
Alix put the left into Nick's face, but it wasn't a jab. It was a straight left, with shoulder in it. It twisted Nick's nose, and brought blood.
Nick was nettled, and he charged. He charged into a straight, sweet right hand that was delivered from a flat-footed stance. Nick wavered, and tried to grab.
Alix felt his strength pour back and the pattern of his feet was sure and planned. A left, a feint, a jolting right, moving around this hulk, this blundering knot of flesh and muscle, beating a tattoo on him, spreading the blood. Get him.
It looked like a slaughter-house. Blood all over Nick's face, and blood matting the curled, sweaty hair on his chest. Starting to look dazed, starting to wonder, the champ. The untypical man? He must be, he had to be, to have dominion over sea and land.