Crushing the Former Champion
Was this surprising? Of course not—it was only natural.
The crowd held their breath as the referee asked if we were ready. I nodded, and he shouted before vanishing.
"Fight!!!"
No sooner had the referee's voice signaled the start than Dmitry exploded forward from his crouch. He made no effort to hide his burning desire to kill me. This was a side of him I'd never seen—charging straight in from the bell like a madman.
He leaped, aiming a flying knee at my head. It was a clumsy strike, but the sheer ferocity made it dangerous, so I slipped away with footwork. Then his long arm flashed into my vision.
Paang!
Dmitry showed exactly why he was called the MMA prototype, why he wore a champion's belt. A punch like that in boxing gloves would've done zero damage, but he threw it with ruthless efficiency. I raised my guard and ducked the probing straight that followed. Ducking the combo's lead hook, I drove a fist into his exposed midsection.
Ppak!
Dmitry recoiled in shock, and I used the torque from extending my torso to slam a mid kick home.
Cchaeok!
"Kyu!"
Finally calming down, he backed away to create distance. I thought he was catching his breath, but his long leg whipped up instead. It came at an unexpected angle. Rather than block, I raised both arms and barely evaded it.
Whoosh!
I prepared to rush in, expecting his stance to crumble, but I spotted the spin in his base leg and retreated instead.
Whoosh!
I easily sidestepped the delayed hook kick.
"......"
Testing the range, he kept rolling his shoulders, shifting stances. His orthodox posture was damn near perfect. He didn't know my distance any better than I knew his. Spotting his extended lead leg, I ripped a leg kick into it.
Cchaeryak!
It was a light one, but the damage landed harder than expected, sending him spinning in confusion. He staggered, fighting to regain balance with instinctive survival gestures—a blatant thumbing attempt, stretching his lead hand toward my eyes. That shit wouldn't fly in the future anyway. Too many counters for it.
So I smashed an oblique kick into his lead foot, his pivot point.
Teoreong.
He flailed his arms to steady himself. Into that opening, I fired a straight. Twisting my torso to dodge his looping left, I drove for his unguarded chin.
Paang!
My fist didn't quite connect, but he crashed to the mat anyway.
Pre-regression, grappling was my domain. No one lay down in front of me like that. But for some reason, I didn't feel like diving in. Maybe I could hide my grappling a bit longer, for later. Flicking him my left middle finger, I backed off.
"Get up, you god.
Dmitry slapped the mat with his fist and rose, resetting his stance. He extended his palm toward me again for another thumbing attempt. Plenty thought that long-arm poke was cheat-level. But once you knew the counters, it wasn't shit. This wasn't boxing, and my arsenal went beyond boxing and grappling.
As he reached with his lead, I snapped a short roundhouse into his unguarded side.
Kkong!
"Kuhk!"
As he folded, I stepped in and jabbed his face. Twisting my head to slip his incoming right, I countered with a straight.
Paang!
He reacted, but it grazed the edge of his range. My senses were spot on. Groggy now, he staggered, eyes widening to focus on my next move. Again, no follow-up—I pointed at him and turned to the crowd.
"That's your champion? Bullshit."
"Waaaaaah!!!"
I strode toward him, and he backed away like he was fleeing. Standing still, I flexed my left bicep with my right fist—the classic gun show.
"You think you're different? Fuck off."
"Waaaaaah!!!"
He raised his hand for another thumbing. Clearly hadn't learned— this time I stepped deeper and ripped a deep kick.
Thwak!
The impact sent him tumbling backward.
"You gonna kill me?"
"Waaaaaah!!!"
Mind cleared but flat on his back, no intention of getting up. Leaving him, I stretched and paced the octagon. My eyes met Brown's in the front row.
"Told you I'd show you."
Ignoring him like that lit a fire—Dmitry rose, recovered enough. He swung his arm wide again, but pulled it back fast. That opened his leg for another leg kick.
Cchaeryak!
It sank in perfectly. His leg went rigid, maybe numb. Still, he hid the pain.
"I'll kill you... I'll kill you."
"Says the dying fuck."
Realizing strikes weren't working, he shot a single-leg on me. Dmitry had freakish striking talent, but wrestling was his base. Balancing on one leg, I snagged a grip on his head. He didn't try to lift me fully, instead popping his torso upright. I went for an elbow to his face, but he pulled away, raking my face with his palm. Vision obscured, I braced for attack—but his fingers jammed my right eye.
Pook.
Pain like a cactus in my socket. Blinking didn't help; I raised guard and retreated. A black blur closed in. I yanked my body back just in time.
Paang!
Backstepping, I shoved the charging Dmitry while signaling the ref about my eye—but something hard clipped my chin.
Ppak!
Impact like a club to the throat. Felt like chin, but metallic rubber taste flooded from my nose, memory blanking briefly. Another black club incoming—I shelled up.
Cchaeryok!
The shockwave rattled my bones, snapping me alert. Eye pain like gouging, bile rising. PTSD clawed my face.
Die...
"Hoo... fuck."
Slipping punches, he timed a tackle as I recentered. Instinctively, I sprawled, shifting weight to defend. Right eye stabbed, tears blurred the left too. As I resisted, he snaked an underhook into my armpit.
"Didn't wanna... why tempt me?"
"......"
If he knew my jiu-jitsu, he wouldn't grab like that. Blurry ref was off to my left—wrong angle to see shit. I slid my arm to his left elbow, then clamped my left hand on his neck to trap him. Perfect feel for timing and angle. With all my strength, I wrenched his elbow backward.
Beureok!
"Hin!?"
Panicking at the standing armlock, he tried to flee. I'd anticipated—yanked his head-trapped hand, then drove a knee into his long leg.
Jjeok!
One-armed block from him. Clutching his arm in agony, but I speared in with a tackle, dumping him down.
"You. Fucking. Asked for it."
No mount—instead, from the sprawl, I locked his right thigh with my legs to pin him. Checked ref position, yanked his right arm, and said:
"Huuu..."
Eye? Didn't need it. Wanted to gouge his too, but champ belt first. Can't miss the starting line now. No DQ no-contest here—eye gouges later. For now, time to remind him why I was Human Press, why they called me the human vice, why so many hated me.
Forced his arm straight, locked in a Kimura at blinding speed.
Wooduk!!!
Snapped before tap— he convulsed in horror.
"Kuhahaha-hin!"
Pinned his shoulder to the mat with my hand. Rose like pounding, smashed an elbow into his cheekbone.
Ppakak!
Just me and Dmitry in the coliseum. Crowd saw my face fully caved in.
Die...
Elbow to cheekbone, shifted weight forward. Gold-cracked bone crumbled slow under pressure—chilling sensation.
Beureudok.
If I don't, I'll be the one...
Burning agony from my right eye, hot flush across my face—it screamed that day's pain. Pressure on shattered cheek ordered: gouge the eye. Stop here, and it'd be me...
"Kyaha...!"
Both arms wrecked, can't tap—seizing. I snapped back, shook my head, shifted base to legs. Looked fine outside, so ref figured he'd rise. Historic MMA champ crumbling pathetically? Nah. That split-second misjudgment was my window.
Time to brand Dmitry's face.
Lifted torso—no stop from ref. Full power straight to his face.
Cchaeyok! Kwa-jik! Ppeuk-kwang!
Ref expected guard, but ruined arms couldn't. Nose and cheekbone collapsed fully, but he was out cold—no reaction. Ref shoved me off in panic. I rolled once, spat on the mat.
"Ptoo."
Crowd clueless on details. Just the new kid crushing a striking prodigy, hyped for Light Heavyweight champ.
"Waaaaaah!!!"
"Komon!!! Komon!!!"
Whittaker rushed in, eyeing my right eye. Not yet. Gestured him back. Stood octagon center, scanning crowd chanting my ring name.
"Komon! Komon!"
Worried fans now roaring it. I wasn't some Human Press anymore. I was the Korean Monster.
For the ceremony, arms wide under the lights—different this time.
"Komon!!! Komon!!!"
"Kyaaaah!!!"
"Komo-on!!! Koooomon!!!"
Chants thickened, arena air scorching hot. Deep breath into my lungs.
"Huuuuup..."
One by one, fans stood. They screamed, knowing what came next.
"Komo-o-on!!!"
Deafening thunder in my ears. Matching it, I tensed every muscle, unleashing a roar at everyone in front.
"Kuaaaaaah!!!"
"Waaaaaah!!!"
"Kyaaaaaah!!!"
Screams mixed with cheers battered me.
"Hoo..."
Now, the real starting line. I'd carve my name as the strongest in human history.