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.

[color=6ecff6]“So desperate for a win you’ll cheat?” [/color] 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.