Carlos dodged the third fireball in five minutes. As he landed on both feet, he looked up, sweat all over his forehead. He panted, narrowly deflecting the sharp blade with his own, before kicking his attacker away from him.
"What do you want Stryker? What's your plan?"
The man laughed, his black hair slick with sweat, along with the rest of his face. He was a true Capricorn, through and through, laughing no matter the circumstances. His head was thrown back, his mouth wide open, and his shoulders bouncing over dramatically.
They had been battling on Stryker's airship for over an hour now. The sky could be seen above them, as the roof of the large, police headquarters size cockpit was made of glass. The crew of the ship was working like nothing was going on.
"You see Carlos, I would tell you, but then, what good would it do you? You're about to die!"
Stryker was a tall and muscular man. He had tanned skin, almost a caramel color. He had slick, black hair, and a scar going over his perfectly functional left eye. He was wearing a black military officer's uniform, which was currently sporting many cuts and slices from his battle with Carlos. He was already capable alone with his combat prowess, on top of his genius level IQ. Not to mention, being a general provided Stryker with enough power to rule the world. Which is exactly what Carlos was there to prevent.
"I'm not dying here Stryker."
Carlos Vallejo was the dictionary definition of a bad as a. At 17, he had already mastered 38 different fighting styles, spoke 50 different languages, and had an IQ of 182. He had pretty tan skin, and black hair. He could easily pass as Stryker's son. He was wearing a blue T-shirt, and black jeans.
Suddenly Stryker's sword came down on Carlos's head, and everything went black.