The humiliation of being countered so easily brought Meats back to his senses, forcing him to think of a new approach to this enemy. It was obvious that rushing forth all too soon were the mistake which let his opponent strike back: exasperating foolishness, given that Meats hadn’t even made any proper judgment of his ability yet. Yes, as unpleasant it were to admit, the lack of a true rivals had relaxed him, luxury of long-living dominance leading to faulty performance, blown up confidence and pride tampering with his insight into the battle’s flow.

Though the situation was far from hopeless for the demon warrior. Landing on his feet and then standing up, Meats did what he had already planned to do some time ago: immersing into this task, he expanded his field of view into an omnidirectional sphere, skimming his gaze over the combatants, managing to notice a few interesting things, both good and bad. The good news were that no other foe was threatening him yet. The bad news were that his current one had just ripped Iginbo out of the wooden post, leaving Meats with just a sidearm and knowledge of his opponent’s unnerving strength.

Fists clenched, the demon headed towards his foe with slow, wide strides, paying no attention to the giddy mocking. He had to be cautious. Previous memories of the hardest battles to commence surfaced, all reminding him of the lessons learnt, the priceless experience obtained – there were more to his reputation than just the magecraft body, it were the skill and unruly determination that all feared. Defeat resulting in no more than being expelled from the physical plane for him, Meats took on every challenge met, his power growing with each victory, and it seemed like time to show what it was worth. 

His fervor rekindled as the warrior stopped in front of David and then dashed, his feet skidding across the ground; in a blink of the eye he entered the swords range, 3 feet away from it’s wielder, standing in a battle stance: feet parted at shoulder’s length, right leading, and hands raised. Should the man strike first, swinging at Meats with the sword, he would throw a left-handed jab towards the enemy’s chest – the fastest punch in his arsenal, it kept the arm nearly limp, instead, the torso twist throwing it forwards like a ragdoll’s. Should he not, Meats would be forced into attacking first, for which his current position was highly unfavorable. To avoid being easily countered, he would move to his opponent's left flank, stopping in the very same stance, slightly more than a foot away from David - from this position, he would throw a hook, aimed for the set of ribs just beneath the shoulderbaldes.