Fury let loose his energy blast and sent Kanitah flying, though the man had chosen to sustain greater damage on his hand in order to spare the rest of his body. The decision was his to make, Fury supposed, rolling to his feet with a grimace. His body hurt all the more when he stood, the injuries he sustained catching up to him in one wave of discomfort. He staggered rightward, coughed and turned to face Kanitah in his location on the ground. 

His armour was badly dented, an unfortunate by-product of his repeated encounters with Kanitah’s force-enhancing abilities. It was pressing into his side uncomfortably where his ribs were probably broken, but there wasn’t much he could do about that now. However, despite his energy blast Fury still felt as if he was running now with more energy than he had in the beginning of the fight. This was good news for the Fireen, who had developed a healthy respect for his opponent if only for the wallop his tackle had given him. 

“If I had my damn sword I’d fuck you up.” Fury spat, for the first time in recent memory wishing he hadn’t been so damned arrogant about his new power and had just taken a weapon with him. He had a moment until Kanitah got himself together to recover himself, preferring to do it on his own feet, so he stood there until he had normalized his breathing. There were perhaps ten feet separating the fighters.