[@LeeRoy]

Gonad hadn't forgotten the last time he'd gotten the wind knocked out of him. Worthy foes were treasured in memories past. Here was another gem for the collection. The barbarian was familiar with the concept of the one inch punch, and could perform similar attacks, but he'd never met anyone else who had devoted as much or more effort into mastering it. He'd thought he was in a position of relative safety, only to be struck when he least expected it. Gonad skidded back, bracing his left foot behind himself this time, single eye bulging, two fresh, bright red marred knuckle imprints left by Shin's fists. He'd been forced to cede ground twice now.

From Shin's perspective, he may have fancied himself in a position of safety as well. He'd connected flush with his blow, the perfection of his Kung Fu reverberating throughout Gonad's body like a ripple. It would have stopped any other martial artist cold. This was something very different. Even as he closed in and landed his attack, Gonad had been in the process of showing Shin his own cultivation. During that second of pause where Shin had concentrated his power, Gonad's left hand moved with a venomous flicker, the thumb that had been pressed against Shin's forehead jagging down to plunge into his empty socket. Should the point blank gouge succeed, a fearsome pressure would immediately overtake Shin's orbital bone as it was actually pinched between the barbarian's finger and thumb, the hulking warrior finding a grip right off the bat as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and for him it was.
One trained as a berserker gives no quarter to pain, an ultimate opportunist who siezes the moments between life and death.

Shin would be jerked after Gonad, the hairy, thick fingers not budging despite the two-fisted blow having landed at roughly the same time. Gonad's toenails scritched across the damp floor, and before he even finished sliding he'd seek to take advantage of Shin being potentially pulled off balance. Gonad's rear foot left the floor as he spun on the ball of his lead right foot. The fast, low roundhouse glided in on a cushion of silence. All the weight of that silence was in dynamite. If it struck it'd bowl through Shin's shins and, in conjunction with his skull being hauled to his right, would launch his body into a searing mid-air cartwheel that'd culminate in his head hitting the ground before his feet did, and his feet winding up where his head had been.

Whether or not the traffic accident of a kick landed, Gonad's stomach churned shortly after the exchange, a hot swell rising up too fast to stop. A cocktail of everything Gonad had consumed in the last few hours flooded his cheeks and spewed out from between his lips, a partially digested stew of bile slapping the ground. He'd been hit in both the chest and the belly, and now that a few moments had passed, the full effects of the two fisted blow had begun to manifest. The impact had been more than he'd expected, just like everything else involving this strange, Eastern warrior. He wondered if this was on purpose. One blow voids the lungs of air, as the other threatens further suffocation by voiding the stomach. An enemy gasping for oxygen, then choking on vomit. A two-fisted attack with a two-fold threat.