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.