The burly man knocked Dax to the ground and stabbed a blade in his direction. Just before it could pierce his neck and plow open a stream of blood, Dax curled his palm around the sharp blade, clenching his jaws when the man grinned and dug the steel into his palm. Thick blood trickled down his arms but before it could reach the curve of his elbows, Dax swung a punch with his other hand, quickly making him lose his balance and send the blade flying from his hand.

Dax twisted his arms and pinned him down on the floor. He grabbed the blade. The man knew his end had come. The familiar and similar look in their eyes just before he killed them— it meant one thing: they had given up. Sometimes Dax wanted to snarl at them: Fight, you fuckers! Get up on your feet and fight me! but it never happened.