The only clear thing happening here was his opponent clearly giving humans very little credit in their capabilities, and misunderstanding time-frames and timing in and of itself. He didn’t step forward and then crouch. He crouched AS he stepped forward. It was not an additional step, but the same steps already undertaken. The fact of his body crouching mid-step, and his arm being pushed outward not just above, but in front, of his head is what made the block entirely possible. Brennus seemed to assume that all humans are weak, fragile things. That their minds and bodies don’t react on pure instinct in the heat of the moment. 

If Brennus was truly the warrior he claimed to be, then he’d have to understand that simple concept. For Beatdown, this fight wasn’t one of thought – where each option was weighed carefully and then undertaken after a far too long thought process. For him, fighting was second nature. Every move he made, every endeavor undertaken in the heat of combat, was muscle memory. It was instinct. That made his reactions immediate and definite. Not superhuman, no, but the movements of someone highly trained and skilled in combat for more than most their lives. Some people just didn’t understand that concept. Didn’t understand how muscle memory, how instinct, how reaction works. That’s fine, those people could be taught if they were willing to learn. 

For Beatdown though, he’d learned it a long time ago. Throughout hundreds and thousands of battles fought and won by the blade and the fist. This man, though? He was a coliseum fighter. He fought for audiences, for the glory of his name. He didn’t truly know what it meant to be faced with death. He didn’t know what a true fight was, and he clearly didn’t begin to fathom what true, bred training in life-and-death situations bred into a real warrior. 

So, Beatdown shifted back to a standing position, before taking two steps backward as the spear began to pivot. This put him at a range in which the man would have to fully extend his arm all the way outward just to make a minor point of impact on the most outward part of his body. Meanwhile, he inspected his forearm – and reminded himself that he was glad the shackles remained. It’d caused the sliding of the spear backward to lift a bit, and instead of a deep gash formed a shallow cut on his arm. It stung a great deal, but the blood loss was minimal and the cut itself barely a nuisance. 

“Are you ever going to truly fight, or are you going to just keep trying to poke me with your stick? I’m growing bored with your ignorance, child.”