[@King Cosmos]

Perfectly placed. Right on the load-bearing meat of the inner thigh, the impact forced the baseball player's stance to buckle, sending him stumbling off to the side as that leg tried to contend with being knocked out of position, his weight, and its newly-forming bruise. He doubted he'd killed it yet— it would take a few more for him to totally remove the boy's ability to put weight on it, but from the looks of things he'd already cut down mobility.

[color=82ca9d]"Welcome to the world of Muay Thai, [i]Farang[/i]."

[i]I knew you weren't fit for this. I'll do you a service and end things quickly—[/i][/color]

He burst forward, looking to use this opening as a means to close distance. With his opponent so preoccupied, he wouldn't need to worry about any more incoming attacks for the time being. Even if he swung—

[i]Too high. That'll land in front of me. Getting desperate already? Hoping I'll trip?[/i]

Kasemchai closed in further, ignoring the crimson orb that fell from its pop-fly arc a scant two feet in front of him. It was simply avoided, all he needed to do was step over. Baseballs weren't even big enough to be an impedance. This was done. In another second, he would be in distance, and this fight was as good as over. That man had one leg, he was batting single-handed, he was off-balance, his head was just [i]dangling[/i] there. All he needed was one knee and he would put him away. Maybe even a flying knee for style—

It struck the earth, and Kasemchai's world became dust, and grass, and impact.

It was as if a blanket of raw force had suddenly slammed into him, not only checking his advance, but sending him reeling back bodily. It was only thanks to his many fights of stadium experience, live combat, that he found it in himself to stay on his feet at all. Had he placed a wall in front of him? Just what the hell was [i]that[/i]? It was as though he'd run into the fist of the Buddha. If he were any less tough, he'd be dazed and on his ass.

Kasemchai tensed his body, recalculating and recomposing, as the baseball player found his feet and retreated further.

That sealed it. He had to get inside range now. Whatever other tricks this bat contained, Kasemchai was not stupid enough to let this happen again. If such an explosion were accompanied by usual shrapnel and flame, he could have been in serious trouble. He had regained his stance and his wits by now— And would not allow his opponent any room to breathe. 

He began his forward march, maintaining his stance with an almost shuffling sort of footwork— always making sure to minimize the amount of time he was outside of his solid, compact base. He would not be caught unawares again. He would not cross over his feet and get knocked end over end because he was unable to brace himself.

He refused.

As he closed the distance, his lead land lanced out with a pistonlike jab. A jab was perhaps an even safer version of the teep in this instance— a range-finder, a harassing tool, something that rarely had one-shot knockout power, but quickly thrown, not compromising his stance, and perfect for forcing reactions. Just because it did not mean a knockout did not mean it could be ignored— any punch to the face was a punch to the face, and in his experience any punch in the face was hard to think through.

He did not intend on letting up. Even if he had only just stepped into the edge of his range (he didn't have the best range on this distance, he could have been entirely outside), the moment the jab reached full extension it was retracted right back into the guard, just as quickly. Punches were snappy things. You didn't leave them out there to try and push your opponent with— If anything, you [i]stabbed[/i] with them. Quickly. Precisely.

He jabbed again as he made another step in, using his forward motion to maximize the reach of his punch and add just a bit more weight to it.

[i]Repeatedly.[/i]

He would not let up until he could get his hands on him. The moment he began to shield his head, he would attack the body. If he felt like it, he would even teep him in the gut— But he would [i]drown[/i] this man in blows all the same.