For some godforsaken reason, unknown even to his own self, Meats couldn't comprehend the blatantly obvious dodge in time, his sword smashing into the post. It would be fairly easy to yank it out for a being with such a mighty body as his, but the opponent didn't give him the chance, aiming a dropkick towards the demon's chest. He had already lost the opportunity to to dodge the moment he sunk Iginbo into the wood; negating the damage done was next on the list. Fortunately, he were no human, and his body had this one spot perfectly fit to dampen the blunt fore of this kick. Having no need for any organs, he instead had his belly filled with pure muscle, such great cross-sectional density playing a major role in a strike's power. This time, however, he would flex them not only to attack, but to protect himself. Splinters of bone were a problem even to him when stuck in the flesh, so instead, Meats jumped into the air, hands slipping of the sword's handle, torso unwinding, and threw a hook towards the assailant's knee, while taking his boots to the abdomen. There was little to no risk of him ending up with a broken spine, a large amount of energy dissipated by the muscle, and part expended on throwing him backwards. Sure, the distance would still increase, but at least he would land on his feet instead, ready to close it immediately.