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?