Tre’Yan felt the impacts of his right hand. Heavy, terribly destructive and sickening sounds as the balled fists made contact with their targets. Each right hand, a blur of motion, perfect in their trajectory; perfect in their technique, hammering home the contempt that Tre’Yan felt for the man he had killed. A man who was little more than lumbering clod, a man with the skill of a backroom brawler.  Dyayun was a fighter of brute force, a fighter who did not possess the ability to surgically take apart an opponent. 

As the head shot landed, Tre’Yan wa already moving in for the kill. His left hand shot forward in a deadly shot aiming for the jaw of Dyayun. Inside the larger man’s guard, it was a work of art to get inside, to take a man apart, and to destroy him completely. 

The left hit, but Dyayun managed to duck his chin enough that his shoulder took the brunt of the blow. Rage. Rage filled Tre’Yan, he would unleash holy hell on the man. He would rain punishment on the man before him in a display of boxing expertise.

Then it happened. An uppercut. A blow he hadn’t seen coming caught him on the button, forcing his head back and up. For a moment he saw the lights overhead as confusion set in.  He stepped back as the force of the blow caused his knees to buckle. Then the second half of the combination hit home. A devastating right cross over his left arm catching him on the jaw. The sound of fist hitting jaw was an explosion. Loud and distinct in the eerily silence. 

Tre’yan felt his legs go numb as his arms dropped. His head, leading his body rocketed to the right. His toes dragged across the canvas a moment before leaving all contact behind as the smaller fighter spun around and fell face first onto the canvas. The last thing Tre’yan  remembered was a series of lights swirling before his eyes then darkness.