Funny how the sins of the past catch up to you when you least expect it. Tre’yan stared at the ghastly forms of the dead, a mockery of the living who had witnessed his defeat at the hands of a capable MMA fighter. Why had he taken the fight? Why? Because of his absolute confidence in his own skills, Tre’yan had made the one mistake that haunts all fighters. He believed his own hype; he believed that there was no one alive that could touch him.

The images flooded back, each moment realizing he was rapidly losing control, losing the edge to dominate, to impose his will. It was a feeling he did not enjoy. The eerily silent arena filled with the dead. They were staring at him, their hollow eyes and malignant grins, a grim reminder of the other world.

How it must have been for Dyayun when Tre’yan killed him. The realization that he was no longer dominate, that his skills had faded, had become a twitch too slow. Tre’yan allowed a sliver of a smile to slip past his stoicism. Each step he climbed filled him with a cold resolve, a fury, an appetite for pain.

Stepping into the ring, Tre’yan stared at the spot where he lay, where the large man had taken him off his feet. Where he tasted defeat, where he felt the gnawing realization that he was not invincible, not unbeatable.

The gloves felt heavy, solid on his hands. Staring at them, he felt a certain comfort in knowing that the fight to come would be one standing up. He would not have to worry about leg sweeps or take downs. No. This fight would be a brutal and deadly affair. Slamming his gloves together, the fighter known as Tre’yan T’mass stared at the crowd then at the tunnels where his opponent would enter. If Dyayun wanted to have this fight, then he would get everything that Tre’yan had. Perhaps the old champion felt a desire for revenge; perhaps he felt he had to show to himself that he was the better fighter. To sustain his existence to prove that he lost on a fluke, that he had not been beaten by a better fighter.

Again that sly smile slipped loose. Again the gloves crashed together creating a loud explosive pop that filled the arena, lingering ominously. Tre’yan knew, and Dyayun would remember, he was not invincible.

As espected, Tre'Yan had accepted the cryptic offer, and now was standing in the ring. The dead, summoned here by the sheer will power of two undead fighters who went out at the top of their game, were eager to see them slug it out one more time.

Dyayun stood at the tunnel, hidden by the dark shadows that enveloped the walkway and made it impossible to see inside. Gaseous eyes watched Tre'yan and his interactions in the ring, where in his last appearance he was captured in a straight arm bar, and his coach had to throw in the towel. Tonight, there would be no savior in the form of cotton, in the form of a second. Tonight, Dyayun, the Malevolent Champion, would have his vengence.

He thought back to the final moments of that fight, the faster Tre'Yan barely able to maneuver, the stronger Dyayun dead on his feet. It took a second. He wasn't fast enough, but he only needed one more hit. Such was the extent of the twelve round match up that one of them was destined to die.

Pop.

Tre'yan's gloves connecting triggered the memory in full force. Tre'yan, the faster of the pair with footwork like lightning, was nearly dead on his feet. Dyayun, the stronger with hits that could break through steel walls, was no better. Twelve rounds had led to once conclusion. One had to die. Tre'yan, ultimately, threw the killer right hook that ended the match, Dyayun's three year long title reign, and of course, his life.

He sneered and the gaseous ayra around him illuminated the darkness of the tunnel in a malevolent violet hue. The dead turned to see the most vicious and dominant of champions in the WBTO Mixed Weight division.

Dyayun Kurokawa.

He walked towards the stairs, his eyes ever leaving Tre'yan, his rival, his eternal enemy. Time had come for his vengence, and each step seemed to shave off decades, years, months, weeks, days. He had come prepared, his death and training their after left him a new gift.

Sakki. What it was, was a way to scare the opponent into guarding or attacking against a feint that seemed to be real. It would set up a vicious counter if all fell into place. It had two conditions for use, however, but only one need to be met. One involved the opponent knowing how strong the opponent's punch strength was, this was either by seeing it beforehand, or feeling it mid match. The second, as mentioned, was feeling it and not wanting to be hit by it again. It suited Dyayun, his punch strength was second to none.

Dyayun stepped up the steps, and stopped just before entering the ring. He slammed his fists together, causing what could nearly be deemed a shotgun blast like sound.

The hushed crowd, if possible among the dead, became even quieter as the two fighters got into each others face. An eternity of unspoken words and promises could have passed in that unbreakable silence, and what possibly could it have said?

Dyayun backed away first, and adopted a brawling stance. His hands went to his sides, his elbows bent at ninety degrees. His left hand was aimed straight, but the right was pointed slightly outward. His knees bent to lower his center of gravity. Feet planted. He knew the score. Dyayun was sacrficing speed and finesse for a dangeroyus game. An in fight where power reigned supreme. He could outbox with the best of them, but this was personal.

Let's test that chin, Tre'yan, let's test that chin.

Moments later, there were no introductions, nbut a bell as haunted as the dead in the arena sounded.

The match was on, and already, his right hand was swaying back and forth, and he was inching forward.

Tre’yan didn’t move his gaze never left Dyayun, stoic and unflinching he merely stared at the once great champion with dispassionate eyes. This fight would be memorable, perhaps even legendary in some circles.

For Tre’yan it would be merely a test. Their last fight was a sadistic affair. Neither fighter gave quarter. Powerful blow answered with powerful blow. Broken and battered, neither side asked for mercy and none was expected. What had started as a prize fight had turned into a personal hell, a war of attrition that Tre’yan won.

Dyayun stepped back, his stance brutish, coarse and decidedly that of a brawler, not a boxer. Even now the fight had been fought and a winner decided. All that remained was the painful process of blows, a whittling down of will, until the final blow crashed down.

Dyayun prided himself on being a fighter, the reality was he was far from it; he was simply a bull in a china shop. He had heavy punches, and an ability to absorb punishment. These traits led him to a championship, one fraught with fearful fighters who crumbled under the withering, relentless Dyayun. Until he faced a true boxer, until he faced Tre’yan.

Sliding back into his unorthodox style, Tre’yan’s right hand slipped up in front of his face with the elbow drawn in, parallel with his torso. His right foot edging forward, as the left slid back. Knees bending as the weight settled evenly on the balls of his feet. The power hand, his dreaded left pulled in close to his body, elbow vertical with the fist.

The fight would of course be the classic mismatch of orthodox against unorthodox styles. But while Dyayun burned with vengeance for a loss many years ago, Tre’yan knew the sting of a recent loss. He had learned much in that fight, short as it was. He realized that he had given a tell to the man who beat him. Just as Dyayun gave a tell to Tre’yan. That was really all it was in a fight. One side giving away a tell they desperately tried to hide. The other side reading that tell and taking advantage of it. Time would tell if Dyayun actually learned anything in the many years since his death. If he didn’t he would suffer the same fate. He would lose to a fighter, not a brawler.

Oh, how Tre'Yan had learned after their last bout. He wasn't the eager kid, challenging the undefeated champion anymore. Dreams and ambitions of grandeur, of which he ultimately achieved. No, Tre'Yan was taking it slow, waiting for Dyayun to make the first move.

Let him wait.

His hand continued to move back and forth, as if dancing in the air - awaiting the moment to strike. The speed of his hand increased ever so slightly, noticeable to any boxer with eyes that took in the whole picture.

Dyayun inched ever closer, watching the Orthodox stance of Tre'Yan, a stance used by boxers the world and universe over - the style that could counter the unorthodox style that had come to rival those of tradition. Brawling, as it were, was unorthodox and was made unpredictable because of it. It had no real guard, but because of that his power and reach were extended - allowing for hits to come from unexpected angles.

It was all for naught, however, as he knew Tre'Yan would see through such deceits.

Let him.

Let him watch the arm that was steadily looking to land a blow, not to finish the match - no, Tre'Yan would have to feel the full effect of their previous match before Dyayun would allow it to end so fast.

No, the hit would not only be hard, but aimed to set up the next phase. Sekki.

Tre'Yan, however, probably thought Dyayun was going to be brash. No, not anymore, his revenge had been years in the making, he could afford to be calculating with his vengeance. He continued to get closer, edging closer to the range of Tre'Yan.

The dead crowd was silent, eerily so, watching what would surely be cataclysmic storm of blows that rocked each competitor.

Tre’Yan would have chuckled at the cinematic style that Dyayun had evoked. Had the man actually lost his skills while dead? Hands never move unless you’re going to strike. Waving them like some dance move spoke of an inexperienced fighter, a fighter exposing themselves needlessly to punishment. When your hands aren’t set for defense you can’t get them back fast enough to block a shot, or if you do, you simply expose something else to the real attack.

Tre’Yan stepped back with a slide drag, as he did so he switched stances so he was now right-hand dominate. Right leg back while left leg and hand had assumed the fore. Weight balanced on the balls of his feet. The problem for a brawler, and it was one reason they took a lot of punishment, is they simple opened themselves up. It couldn’t be helped really. They wanted to rush in swinging hoping to land a stunning or even knock-out blow.

Troubling thoughts filtered through the mind of Tre’Yan. Had the blow he struck that killed Dyayun actually damaged his brain and thus he was facing a fighter without the acumen of a polished professional fighter. It would be a theory he would have to test. If it were true he would have to exploit that weakness.

Even Dayaun’s movements spoke of a frightened new fighter. As if he was a fighter entering the squared circle for the first time. He inched forward, afraid to move, afraid to take control of the fight before him. Tre’Yan shot a left jab out, low and fast towards the exposed body of Dyayun. Would he hit? Most likely he would not unless at the same moment the larger fighter charged into it. This was merely a quick ranging shot, full of power and speed. The coiled muscles that launched it were hard as steel. As quick as it flashed out it was returning unless it struck. That was always the deciding factor. If even an exploratory shot struck the resulting exchange of blows would rely on what Dyayun did. Would Dyayun take the bait? Could he see the trap laid before him? Had he lost his ability to see a fight?

The early goings of a match had a tendency to be slow, both fighters testing the waters and seeing how the opponent reacts to different things. Often this was not the case in a Dyayun boxing match; ever the aggessor, he would use his brute strength to batter and bully his opponents into submission. Or in the case of a boxing match, knock out.

But no, this time, he would slowly the lay the trap for Tre'Yan this time, leading him to right where he wanted him.

He noticed the change in stance from his opponent, and ceased his movements. His breathing slowed, his body tensed and his hand stopped. Muscles lining his entire arm were ready to unleash a devestating blow - but it was all preparation for the finish he sought.

Both fighters watched each other a moment, and an entire lifetime passed within those moments.

Snap!

Such was the speed and power behnd the set up jab that a lesser man might have been, at the very least, knocked on his backside for a count of three or four. But Dyayun was no ordinary man.

The hit was nothing more than a mere range checker, and Dyayun was just inside that range - enough to feel the pressure from the hit as it connected. If anything, it was exploratory, and Dyayun would begin his own research. His right foot was just ahead of his left, his right hand in the lead.

As the jab connected, Dyayun braved the blow and immediately followed the hand with his own left, aiming to slam his opponent with an uppercut. His left foot slid forward. It was all intent. The move seemed to have all the intention of a high power, sudden uppercut aimed towards the upper center of Tre'Yan. His chin.

The hit wouldn't make it past the shoulder stage - as the move was a feint. Tre'yan's next move would dictate what Dyayun would do; the possibilities were endless.

The jab made contact. It was to Tre’Yan’s surprise that the jab had made contact. Further surprise was the fact that Dyayun was coming in, to launch an uppercut. The uppercut, a deadly punch and if mastered properly was one of the most punishing punches in a fighter’s arsenal.

A great uppercut was hard to see, and in close range gave the fighter who mastered it, often a decided advantage. The problem was, they were not close. No, Tre’Yan had done what he was good at, firing fast jackhammer jabs at range. Dyayun took the shot and came in to throw an uppercut. Because he was coming in the shot was telegraphed, hell a novice boxer could have seen it coming.

To properly execute an upper cut, the body has to turn in a little for the blow to rocket up into the body or chin. This move must happen to execute an uppercut. Even a feint as apparently what Dyayun was employing. It was a bad move. As mention previously most boxers threw the uppercut incorrectly. An uppercut takes the fighters body in a particular way, momentarily dropping the guard and leaving the fighter using it open to counterpunches. A proper uppercut is a short, crisp punch that comes from a deadly angle with a lot of force. This was not what Dyayun did, he actually pulled back, stopping the action like an indecisive fighter.

However his body was open for the counter punching that Tre’Yan was known for. The left hand came back into guard. In a flash the right hand rocketed forward, Dyayun's left was exposed by the feint. A feint at distance, leaving the left side of the chin exposed to the deadly right hand. They were at medium range now and the punch would hit like a freight train.

Tre’Yan loved this punch. It was one of his favorite punches and Dyayun offered himself up for it. The smaller champion pivoted his back foot, while rotating his hips and shoulders. His hand came up in a rainbow over what would have been a guard had not Dyayun tried some sort of fumbled uppercut that brought him range of this punch.

It was lighting fast as the gloved hand rotated opening the face of the knuckles to strike the left chin and jaw of Dyayun flush. Tre’yan would hit with malice and intent to punch through the other man’s jaw and head if possible. The move was fast, and if the blow hit it would already be snaking back to a guard. The fight was now on as they say. If Dyayun wanted to pussy foot and get a text book boxing lesson he would be happy to oblige him.

The feint was not exactly well executed, and in a fight against a dead man that was dangerous - in a fight against Tre'yan it was downright deadly. Fight science and biometrics affected even the obscenely powerful, and the outrageously deceased. He saw his mistake almost as soon as he made it. The distance was all wrong, he didn't know why he threw it - but he knew he would suffer for it.

He had little time to register the type of hit that was coming for him - the type of hit that would rock his jaw and chin flush with power that was nearly - nearly - rival to his own. The rainbow overhand shot cracked against his skull like a freight train, and wasted little time returning back to the boxer who sent it.

For a moment, he was stunned. Dead already, the blow served mainly as a remainder of what had killed him before and that petty mistakes like the one he just made. That was what stunned him. The blow, while powerful, he could and had already shaken off. No, it was the pain of remembrance, and the pain of stupidity that had him stuck for that moment. But sure enough, he rose his head upward towards Tre'yan, donned his signature smile, and took a step back.

The Champion had to prevail.

He knew now the brawling style was full of holes, it had always been full of holes, but it was his favored stance. He was a fighter, not a tried and true boxer though the training was there.

Dyayun brought his guard up, and rested his weight on the balls of his feet. Tre'yan reminded him that the thrill of the fight could easily catch up and overtake one if they weren't prepared. His right foot slid forward, his body angled with the right to the fore.

While the style was common, the application was very rare. Switch Hitting was not what made Dyayun famous, it was what made him extremely dangerous. A switch hitter, unlike most, could hit from any side - left, right, or center. It was a style he emulated from a boxer that, in 2015, had went 33-0; with 30 of his wins coming from knockout.

Switch hitting would be his ticket to getting in close, and demolishing Tre'Yan with an in-fighting boxing match.

Dyayun hated out-boxing, thought it wasn't real boxing or fighting. Too far, not personal enough. But that overhead shot proved to him that it was still a deadly game.

Time clicked slowly away but in this fight rounds wouldn't save either of them. Being dead had that effect.

It was his turn to research the range. With a crisp snap, his right hand shot out - balled fist packed with power. He had no illusions it would end the battle. But it would test his range at the distance, and see how he held up against what would essentially feel like a Tekken Jab - Iron Fist Jab.

Tre’Yan felt a thrill of elation as the punch had hit. But that brief moment of satisfaction evaporated as soon as it formed. Dyayun was changing stances and firing off a right jab. The punch was a beautiful counter, rocketing forward towards Tre’yan’s face. Shrugging his shoulders and dipping his chin to the right, the jab struck full force against the left cheek bone with incredible force.

Had Tre’Yan not been dead already, the punch would have killed him. As it were it was a painful blow, causing a flutter in his knees. It was clear that Dyayun had come to fight. But Tre’yan was a deadly fighter in his own right, and through rote he was already reacting with a long practiced combination.

His left hand erupted up in a wicked uppercut to Dyayun’s body, under his extended right arm. The blow was designed to be hidden, sharp and punishing. Coming up under the extended right arm, it would hit Dyayun’s body just below the right rib cage, in the solar plexus as it were. While both men were dead, the punch ratcheting up with the deadly hand speed of Tre’yan would be painful. If this were a normal man, the blow would remove a great deal of the juice from his tank. Nothing in a fight was a painful as an unexpected punch to the body.

Once that upper cut made contact the other half of the combo, a straight right hand to the face, would follow in a fraction of a second. Shooting in, along the same lines that Dyayun had thrown his jab, a returning jab followed. The blow aimed for the chin of the once feared champion. Could Dyayun protect himself? Of course but if he made a mistake in his defense Tre’Yan would capitalize on it in a hurry.

Tre’yan had faster hands and fast hands could make up for heavy hands in a fight. Now the adrenalin was coursing through his veins, the fight was engaged and blows had been exchanged. It would come down to a combination of strategies and counter-punching to win this fight. Something Tre’Yan was amply skilled at.

There are times, after taking a overhand rainbow shot to the jaw and chin where even a veteran fighter can forget that range is a factor of many things, the main component and arguably the only one that matters, is the length of a fighters arm. In this case, Dyayun had underestimated his own range, and connected with the jab that he sent to test the range. An inexperienced fighter would have took this as a sign to switch to a favorable style or follow up with something massive, but against Tre'Yan that would have been a death sentence.

Well, Dyayun supposed, he didn't have to worry about dying. But losing, well, that was worse. In their last bout, there had been no quarter given to either fighter, so even though he lost - he lost on his feet. He died. Tre'Yan survived. And in their state now of Undeath, Tre'Yan would just have to kill him again if he wanted to win. Could Tre'Yan, the sweet young boxer with all the potential in the world, with all the skill in the world, with all the heart in the world, be able to take another life.

He might not be able too.

Dyayun, on the other hand, could.

The jab, even exploratory, was packed with power and connected even though Tre'Yan did what he could to prevent the maximum damage he could have sustained. The blow still had an effect, and Tre'Yan, whose footwork and speed were paramount to his success had been given a flutter in his knees. Something like that was crucial, as it meant he was affecting the legs of his opponent, which would drastically cut down how quick the man was on his toes. That would be another advantage if Dyayun could get the fight in close.

There was no time for celebration, as just a moment later, a left uppercut rocketed into his body, just under his right rib cage. He didn't know what Tre'Yan was thinking, but if it were along the lines of an unexpected punch hurting, then it was right on the money.

Without time to register the blow properly, another jab was coming - this time from the right - his left. His body dodged to the left side, on the outside of the blow - with a quickness that was quick, but was not a match for the quickness Tre'Yan would have been able to unleash. He could literally feel the wind cutting across his cheek.

A boxer was trained to attack whenever the guard was down and Dyayun was no different, even if he hated the concept of what many considered 'true boxing.' That training had led to what Dyayun hoped would be what he needed to unlock his ability to use Sekki. With his dodge, he pivoted the right side of his body, using the balls of his feet to turn, and his hips for added measure and rocketed off a vicious straight right to the face of Tre'Yan. He could feel it, this was the punch he was looking for - something that packed a wallop.

What the hell? Tre’yan thought as his jab missed its mark. Dyayun had increased his foot speed to avoid the uppercut/jab combo that rivaled Muhammad Ali. Ali’s jab was measured to traverse a distance of almost 17 inches in a little more than one hundredth of a second. Tre’Yan was equally fast and yet somehow Dyayun had become faster, exponentially so. Fast enough to avoid a combination blow in less than a hundredth of a second? Clearly it was impossible, unless magic were somehow involved.

Before he could regain his bearing the larger fighter had struck, hitting Tre’Yan behind the ear, in the back of the head, knocking him to the canvas. The ghostly audience gasped, Dyayun had punched Tre’Yan in the back of the head. A cheap shot, a dirty shot and one that had Tre’Yan been human, it might have killed him.

After a moment of lying on the canvas he scrambled to his feet, grabbing the rope. He turned, glaring at Dyayun.

“So desperate for a win you’ll cheat?” There was disdain and contempt in his voice.

Tre’yan raised his fists, assuming an orthodox stance, he was angry now. A fire burned inside him, he would beat this man. He would overcome the amazing speed that Dyayun had gained and he would beat this man mercilessly. There would be no mistakes now. If Dyayun needed magic to win, so be it. Tre’Yan would rely on his skill and talent, not magic to win.

###

Moving in close, not that it mattered, once he had risen their distance was less than 5 feet. Hunching his shoulders, Tre’Yan raised his fists, taking an orthodox stance. His left hand out as the lead, the right tucked in close to his chin, ready and coiled to strike.

Then it was on, taking a step in, Tre’yan fired a left jab at the body of Dyayun. As he did, he ducked down a little, legs bending a bit as he fired it for the solar plexus of the bigger fighter. The jab was a rocket. The glove had hovered a moment, then in one slide step forward the punch came. It was not alone. As soon as it made contact, even just a brush, the right hand came. It was a deadly left-jab, right-cross combo. The right dipped low and rose up so it would be inside the left hand guard of Dyayun. The blow raced for the left chin of the dead champion, just under the ear.

Naturally if Dyayun were still a boxer and not some magic wielding creature there would be limited actions a boxer could take to avoid the first blow, but there was little that he could do to avoid the second. Hand speed simple canceled the ability to avoid every blow, to avoid being hit, regardless of magic or not.

This was a deadly fast combination; Tre’Yan wanted to see how fast Dyayun really was. There would be little room for mistake for the dead champion because no matter how fast his feet had become, his hand speed was no match for the smaller fighter before him.

These moves, long practiced were the bread and butter of fighters across the world, and speed simple made the combination deadly. Speed was always a killer, hand speed, the ability to close the distance in hundredths of a second were what counted. This was what Tre’Yan had in spades. No matter what magic Dyayun believed in, speed counted and in this fight speed would make the difference.

A slight shock went through Dyayun as his punch went long, and ended up catching Tre'Yan back behind the ear. It was known as a Rabbit Punch, and it had been instilled in him, as well as many other would be boxers that it was a highly illegal punch. It could cause significant damage to a person's mental state.

Thankfully there was no referee here to call him on the accidental hit. Even he, a villian in the eyes of many between the ropes and outside them, wouldn't want to catch a victory like that.

Another thing that caused a shock was the speed at which he moved. He hadn't asked for the infamous 'Speed Hell', and was almost certain that he hadn't actually moved at a speed high enough to constitute it. Dyayun was perfectly fine contributing it to his reflexes than any sort of magical enchancement. Either way, he'd have to go back to Joseph, the Imaginist, who had returned him to life and shown him to the man who taught him Sekki, Alexandro 'The Hunter' Cabanro, and put hands on him. The smarmy mute bastard had added more to the deal.

Tre'Yan's voice cut through his thoughts.

Dyayun looked across at the man, and did a significant guts pose; left hand raised in the air, left side of his body exposed. "That was for killing me." Dyayun literally growled out towards Tre'Yan, before returning back to the stance he adopted earlier - switch hitter. He didn't like the rabbit punch, but what could he say? Appearances.

Tre'yan was close, very close and that was what Dyayun had wanted since the start of the bout. Maybe Rabbit Punching wasn't so bad after all. Tre'yan's fists came like a bullet! The first was a left jab that Dyayun barely managed to block by shifting his right side to the fore. Damn it, that hurt! He dropped the hand, seemingly under the guise that the pain had overwhelmed him.

The second shot, however, was a dozy. Dipping up inside his left guard, the unavoidable shot collided heavily with his chin. For a moment, Dyayun wasn't afraid to admit, he may have went blank - working purely off intuition and honed skill to keep on his feet. Had another shot came like that to follow up, however, Dyayun would have been flat on his back.

He had to prevent that.

Life came back to his eyes as though they'd never left and his left hand, in keeping in tune with the right, dropped down like his guard had been broken.

Alas, it wasn't. Dyayun stepped in with a vengeance. Hunched over, still, from the first blow that came, his attack was aimed low. His right came first, arching in a hooking fashion to the left side of Tre'yan's body, a slight upward angle to place it right below the ribs. As though there were a mirror, albeit a slightly slower mirror, the left would come in within a fraction of a second, still slower than Tre'Yan, however, and aim to place a blow under the right side of Dyayun's ribs.

While Tre'yan had always had the speed, Dyayun had the power and these two blows were designed to cut down on several things. Taking out the body affected the legs and with Tre'Yan being an outboxer by nature, his legs were what he needed. In an in-fight that was doubly important. Power in an in-fight came from the sturdy base, Dyayun had that- but did Tre'Yan have enough training on the lower body to withstand two hammers cutting into him?

It was all a set up, however, hoping to break down Tre'Yan's guard for a vicious right hook that would set up the end.

It was the sweet science in effect as both punches had done their job, both had shown Dayayun that Tre’Yan had not lost hand speed. As the second punch landed there was a moment when Tre’Yan believed that the larger fighter had faded. Without waiting Tre’Yan stepped in and clenched with the larger fighter, holding him up , whispering in is his ear, “Time to die . . .Again.”

With that, Tre’Yan fired a deadly combination at Dyayun. Incredibly fast right hands, striking the body, and then the head of the larger fighter as Tre’Yan stepped away, his left hand readied. As second right hook pulled back, Tre’Yan fired a swift, straight left at the chin of Dyayun. This was a finishing combo, one designed to end the fight.

The speed of the combination established the smaller fighter as the faster man, and in any arena in the multiverse it would most likely end the fight. However the lager fighter was resilient and smart. It was probably the one thing that would allow him to detect the weakness in this attack. Two right hands, striking the body and the face, followed by a left, a fighter able to weather the storm would have a clear and open shot for an uppercut. Swift and sure the blow would in a fraction of a second hit the target.

But Tre’Yan, so sure of his speed threw caution to the wind in an effort to end this fight.

The words whispered by Tre'Yan lit a fire under the belly of Dyayun, the man simply had to die and there was nothing to be done for it. Had he simply kept his mouth shut the fight would have progressed, but the combination of the taunt and the clenching, well, that caused the non-existent blood within him to boil and boil as his anger raged out.

Before he could react, he was rocked by a shot to the body and to the head; Tre'Yan was using his superior hand speed to get in for the kill, even at this close range. Attempting to keep the fight at a distance was always the plan for Tre'Yan, but today, there would be no distance, not for the duration of the fight.

Dyayun's eyes darted towards Tre'Yan, his head dipping just a tad. The left rocketed towards him, his shoulders sliding upward, left hand tucked in close to the body, after the two rights that thudded into his body.

Oh Tre'Yan, for all the promise you possessed, you had to choice this moment to show your arrogance.

With his right hand just outside the left of his opponent, Dyayun allowed his shoulders to do the work. His opponents left hand's blow was absorbed by the lifted shoulders.

In truth, Dyayun didn't think Tre'Yan realized what exactly happened, where he had went wrong. Dyayun did, and that was why he had been champion, and that his loss against Tre'Yan was a fluke, as was his death.

Taking the smallest of breaths, Dyayun dropped his left shoulder, and rolled it to the fore, down and up. The resultant attack was an explosive uppercut, aimed to cut off the right hook that Tre'Yan had aimed to throw. Dyayun didn't hesitate, there was no feint - the uppercut was designed to harness all the power he could spare for his left arm, especially considering the good bit of damage he had suffered as recently as a few hits back.

The uppercut was a set up to the finisher Dyayun would set up, even if he couldn't make use of Sekki. The goal was simple, blow Tre'Yan's head back and put it in position for the right hook. No sooner than the Uppercut would land, Dyayun would step in and release his right hand and all it's vengeful fury into a single right hook that was aimed at Tre'Yan's chin.

Good night, sweet Prince;
Beware the King of Boxing;
Beware the Dyayun.

Tre’Yan felt the impacts of his right hand. Heavy, terribly destructive and sickening sounds as the balled fists made contact with their targets. Each right hand, a blur of motion, perfect in their trajectory; perfect in their technique, hammering home the contempt that Tre’Yan felt for the man he had killed. A man who was little more than lumbering clod, a man with the skill of a backroom brawler. Dyayun was a fighter of brute force, a fighter who did not possess the ability to surgically take apart an opponent.

As the head shot landed, Tre’Yan wa already moving in for the kill. His left hand shot forward in a deadly shot aiming for the jaw of Dyayun. Inside the larger man’s guard, it was a work of art to get inside, to take a man apart, and to destroy him completely.

The left hit, but Dyayun managed to duck his chin enough that his shoulder took the brunt of the blow. Rage. Rage filled Tre’Yan, he would unleash holy hell on the man. He would rain punishment on the man before him in a display of boxing expertise.

Then it happened. An uppercut. A blow he hadn’t seen coming caught him on the button, forcing his head back and up. For a moment he saw the lights overhead as confusion set in. He stepped back as the force of the blow caused his knees to buckle. Then the second half of the combination hit home. A devastating right cross over his left arm catching him on the jaw. The sound of fist hitting jaw was an explosion. Loud and distinct in the eerily silence.

Tre’yan felt his legs go numb as his arms dropped. His head, leading his body rocketed to the right. His toes dragged across the canvas a moment before leaving all contact behind as the smaller fighter spun around and fell face first onto the canvas. The last thing Tre’yan remembered was a series of lights swirling before his eyes then darkness.

Dyayun felt the impact of the Uppercut; and then the impact of the Right Hook. The fire in his eyes burned bright as Tre'Yan, once and forever, the best boxer in the world was felled by the King of Brawling, Dyayun.

He watched the body of Tre'Yan float to the right, and thud face first into the ground. Drawing his right hand back to his body, he ignited a malevolent aura around himself and pointed down towards his fallen opponent.

"The first was for killing me. The second was for failing to do so again."

With his word, he turned and faced the crowd - dead as ever, but on their feet fading away. Their roar soared above normal decibels, the dead had such cries. Cracking his neck to the right, he regarded his fallen opponent once more.

Zero and Two in his last two sanctioned fights. Not a good look. Dyayun shrugged and exited the ring, down the tunnel. He had to speak with his new employer.