"I'll take a rain check. Vodka is a much better conversationalist." Nicholai hooked his arm up and sneered. "Unless you're willing to break right here and now. That I wouldn't mind at all."
The fingers coiled to a fist and knuckles bared hard through the thick leather of his combat gloves. But Nicholai didn't make a move yet; he just stayed there, his brows weighing heavy over his eyes.
"How many times have you been dead?" The question was hushed, but it was firm. "Because I've lost count."
With that, he came at HUNK, full raging Russian charge assault.