He thought about it like this:
In a wild exchange, everyone's eyes track the obvious, head shots, big movements, flashy strikes.
But with this?
He could throw a combination upstairs, and while the opponent's guard lifted, one body shot could sneak in like a ghost.
And by the time they realized they'd been hit, their liver would already be shutting down.
They'd fold before they understood why.
Like a phantom punch had stolen their soul.
He rubbed his jaw, the smile turning into something colder.
He'd seen flashes of this in his career, those moments where a fighter gets hit and their body reacts before their brain does.
But now he'd have a tool for it.
Something that could end fights clean, brutal, and sudden.
He flexed his fingers again, imagining it already.
One-two high, slip the third to the body, and before they even feel the sting–
Down they go.
Lights out.