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Description
A wonderful piece I commissioned from kiiru114 . Not only did he draw this but he was nice enough to allow me to use his OC Kris in the related story below. (Devon is my OC.)

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Underestimated
By Brormorc

Kris stood in his corner after four rounds listening to the cheering crowd and feeling pretty good about the fight so far. He looked across the ring at Devon seated in the other corner, who was definitely worse for wear. Well luckily for Devon, or unluckily, it wasn’t going to last much longer.

Devon was 28, five years older than Kris, though it wasn’t readily apparent. Devon seemed to be channeling his inner teenage rebel, shaving most of his head but keeping his top hair long and dyed white. Kris thought Devon’s attempt to seem edgy looked more like he was wearing a skunk on his head. Kris’ opponent was older, heavier, and a couple of inches taller with a slightly longer reach. And Devon must have been a gym rat because he appeared “beefier” than Kris. Comparing them, Kris could understand why he was considered the underdog for the fight.

Kris wasn’t entirely surprised when his manager informed him of Devon’s challenge. Talk had already made the rounds at the gym about how Devon’s managing team were trying to setup matches with “easy marks”. Inexperienced or washed-out fighter were being sought in an attempt to quickly pad Devon’s win record after his debut a little over two years ago. On paper Devon had physical superiority over Kris, and more fight experience with Devon’s fourteen fights surpassing Kris’ three. Kris felt sure that Devon, and his team, saw him as a young kid with a few lucky wins under his belt; easy pickings for Devon. The fact that Kris won all three of his matches by knockout within three rounds could have been a warning. But Kris figured Devon’s team must have assumed Kris was cherry-picking his opponents like they were. It only took Kris a moments consideration to accept the challenge.

Kris wasn’t concerned about facing Devon. Sure, size and strength were useful tools in boxing, but in Kris’ opinion the linchpin to boxing was skill. The footwork to move to where your opponent didn’t expect. The speed to avoid an attack and find an opening in their defense. The stamina to keep your level of energy throughout the match. With size and strength, a lucky punch can end a match in a moment. Failing that, a boxer’s skills were the determining factor. Kris had seen Devon’s previous fights, and Devon didn’t seem to have any skill. Devon was just the kind of boxer Kris hated, a neanderthal. A boxer who relies on overbearing and bulling his opponents. No skill, no finesse, no thinking, no…sport! Just another bully who could only win by beating his opponent into submission. Kris wasn’t concerned about his match with Devon, he was looking forward to it.

Finally, fight night arrived.

Standing in his corner between rounds Kris was feeling great about the match; his plan had thus far executed perfectly. During the first few rounds Devon had rarely jabbed, just throwing haymakers at Kris, trying to intimidate him, to trap him against the ropes. To the untrained eye it might have appeared like Devon was chasing Kris down, but in fact the opposite was true. Kris was using his footwork to stay just outside of Devon’s reach, constantly retreating, forcing Devon to keep moving to catch up. Kris was effectively leading Devon around the ring. Step in, evade or block Devon’s shot, jab or counter, step back out of range to lure Devon forward. Kris would get close to the ropes and purposefully stop and cover up to provoke Devon. Thinking Kris was hurt or scared Devon, completely misreading the situation, would drop his defense to hammer on the “overwhelmed” Kris. Kris would use those opportunities to block or evade Devon’s highly telegraphed shots, and get in two to three shots of his own. A jab to the eye, a hook to the jaw, a straight to the ribs, an uppercut to the abs, and then evade and move to the side and prepare to start the leading game all over again. Rinse and repeat for almost four rounds. The only thing that surprised Kris, was that Devon never seemed to notice the pattern.

Kris looked himself over while in the corner, seeing his arms just starting to show bruising from blocking Devon’s strong punches. They didn’t hurt too much right now, but he was going to feel it after the adrenaline left. He was pretty sure he had evaded more shots than he had blocked, but Kris knew he was never going to be able to escape them all. While against the ropes Devon would ultimately land a head or body shot that rocked Kris, and Kris would take a few straights while trying to keep his distance in the middle of the ring. A serious misjudgment during the 3rd round allowed Devon to hook Kris just above the eye, but Kris was able to react quickly and move away before Devon could follow up. The damage was regrettable, but with the exception of the hook to the eye, it was also somewhat calculated. Kris’ plan to tire Devon out would only work so long as Devon was exerting himself. Kris had to let Devon land some punches, keep Devon thinking he was on the verge of landing that one big hit that would end it. As long as Devon was in that state of mind, he would keep moving forward to catch Kris, keep throwing ineffectual power punches trying for one big hit…keep draining that precious energy reserve. And Kris’ plan had worked for the first four rounds.

Kris looked across the ring at Devon seated in his corner, smiling as he admired his handiwork. Devon’s body was red and bruised from continual body shots, geared towards further reducing Devon’s stamina. His face marked and busted from repeated hits to his face. Blood was showing around his mouth, and Devon’s right eye was already forced shut from swelling. But most importantly, Devon was panting, gasping for air! Kris realized he must have really damaged Devon’s nose because he was gulping air through his mouth trying to catch his breath. Maybe Kris’ punches weren’t one-hit haymakers, but they were strong and he was landing them with a frequency at least five times that of Devon. Frequency wasn’t the only difference. Devon’s punches, when they landed, were delivered for power, but not accuracy. A body shot here, a head shot there, and often Kris was able to move his body to minimize the damage of the blows. Kris’ shots were comparably lighter, but much more precise. He was hitting Devon exactly where he wanted to. Jabs to Devon’s eye until it swelled shut. Body shots to the solar plexus and liver to take his breath away. Hooks to his chin to rattle Devon’s brains. And now Devon was the broken man sitting across from Kris, probably still thinking he was just one punch away from turning it all around.

Kris was having a great time. His plan had worked perfectly. Devon’s haymakers had become less and less frequent over the fight, and they were now slow, no longer packing the same power Kris had experienced in the early rounds. Devon had started jabbing more since the 3rd round, probably because it took less energy. They weren’t fast crisp jabs like Kris’, more like Devon was pawing at Kris to keep him at bay. Kris still had the stamina to go for another four rounds, but he knew that wasn’t going to be necessary. This round Kris was changing it up. Now with Devon’s stamina depleted, the chase game was over. Now it was time to end this.

The bell rang for the 5th round and Kris pushed his gloves together in anticipation watching Devon as he struggled to take his stance. Kris charged across the ring at Devon, who had barely moved out of his corner before Kris was on him. Kris smiled at the startled look on Devon’s face, and Devon’s half-raised guard being surprised by Kris’ sudden change of tactic. Kris grabbed the opportunity and instead of opening with jabs, went straight into a left, right, left, right, combo smashing Devon’s head with four powerful hooks before Devon could bring back his guard and move away.

Now the tables had turned and Devon was the one retreating from Kris. Kris wasn’t about to play hunter, better to make the prey come to him. Kris stood in front of Devon and lowered his guard, grinning at him, daring him to make a move. Still shaken from the opening attack, Devon seemed reluctant to want to approach Kris now. Kris picked up his footwork, bobbing towards Devon, grinning, laughing at Devon. He raised his arms out to the sides and waved Devon forward, in a ‘come get me’ gesture, taunting Devon in front of the arena.

Kris knew making Devon look foolish would provoke a reaction, and Devon didn’t disappoint a few seconds later when his patience ran out. True to form, Devon flew at Kris with a giant hook. Kris was ready and he easily batted the wild punch away with his glove while driving a heavy uppercut into Devon’s abs. Devon came to a full stop and gasped as his breath was forced from his body. Kris started peppering Devon’s face with quick right jabs, more to annoy Devon and keep his attention away from the left hand Kris was keeping cocked. The moment Devon moved to take a shot, Kris released his left and beat him to the punch. Kris’ fist and arm fired upward exploding into Devon’s jaw knocking his head directly back. Knowing it would take Devon a few seconds to recover from the uppercut, Kris moved to Devon’s left-hand side, into Devon’s blind spot caused by his swollen eye. Kris planted his feet and put everything he had into a powerful right hook aimed for Devon’s head. WHAM! The sound was heard throughout the arena and Devon’s head turned so fast it looked like it might have spun off. The impact opened Devon’s mouth causing his bloody mouthpiece to fly out across the ring.

At this point Devon was barely conscious. The impact of the last hook caused Devon to fall against the corner ropes, but he somehow managed to stay on his feet. Kris knew the fight was going to be stopped shortly, by either the referee or Devon’s corner throwing in the towel, but he wasn’t finished making his point. Kris rushed over to Devon placing his left glove on his chest to hold him steady. Kris raised his right fist and let fly.

WHAM! POW! Three, four, five…Kris slammed continual right straights into the left side of Devon’s face. Like a jackhammer banging away with power shot after power shot. Kris got off seven consecutive shots before the referee grabbed Kris and pulled him away to stop the carnage. Devon just simply collapsed in the corner of the ring, like a marionette whose strings were cut. There was no count.

Kris raised his gloves and flexed his biceps as he walked around the ring to the cheers of the crowd. After Kris was announced the winner, as he was leaving the ring Kris regarded Devon, still immobile on the mat surrounded by his cornermen and medics, and made a mental note that he would have to question Devon about his interest in a re-match when he got out of the hospital.

Description
A wonderful piece I commissioned from kiiru114 . Not only did he draw this but he was nice enough to allow me to use his OC Kris in the related story below. (Devon is my OC.)

************************************************************************

Underestimated
By Brormorc

Kris stood in his corner after four rounds listening to the cheering crowd and feeling pretty good about the fight so far. He looked across the ring at Devon seated in the other corner, who was definitely worse for wear. Well luckily for Devon, or unluckily, it wasn’t going to last much longer.

Devon was 28, five years older than Kris, though it wasn’t readily apparent. Devon seemed to be channeling his inner teenage rebel, shaving most of his head but keeping his top hair long and dyed white. Kris thought Devon’s attempt to seem edgy looked more like he was wearing a skunk on his head. Kris’ opponent was older, heavier, and a couple of inches taller with a slightly longer reach. And Devon must have been a gym rat because he appeared “beefier” than Kris. Comparing them, Kris could understand why he was considered the underdog for the fight.

Kris wasn’t entirely surprised when his manager informed him of Devon’s challenge. Talk had already made the rounds at the gym about how Devon’s managing team were trying to setup matches with “easy marks”. Inexperienced or washed-out fighter were being sought in an attempt to quickly pad Devon’s win record after his debut a little over two years ago. On paper Devon had physical superiority over Kris, and more fight experience with Devon’s fourteen fights surpassing Kris’ three. Kris felt sure that Devon, and his team, saw him as a young kid with a few lucky wins under his belt; easy pickings for Devon. The fact that Kris won all three of his matches by knockout within three rounds could have been a warning. But Kris figured Devon’s team must have assumed Kris was cherry-picking his opponents like they were. It only took Kris a moments consideration to accept the challenge.

Kris wasn’t concerned about facing Devon. Sure, size and strength were useful tools in boxing, but in Kris’ opinion the linchpin to boxing was skill. The footwork to move to where your opponent didn’t expect. The speed to avoid an attack and find an opening in their defense. The stamina to keep your level of energy throughout the match. With size and strength, a lucky punch can end a match in a moment. Failing that, a boxer’s skills were the determining factor. Kris had seen Devon’s previous fights, and Devon didn’t seem to have any skill. Devon was just the kind of boxer Kris hated, a neanderthal. A boxer who relies on overbearing and bulling his opponents. No skill, no finesse, no thinking, no…sport! Just another bully who could only win by beating his opponent into submission. Kris wasn’t concerned about his match with Devon, he was looking forward to it.

Finally, fight night arrived.

Standing in his corner between rounds Kris was feeling great about the match; his plan had thus far executed perfectly. During the first few rounds Devon had rarely jabbed, just throwing haymakers at Kris, trying to intimidate him, to trap him against the ropes. To the untrained eye it might have appeared like Devon was chasing Kris down, but in fact the opposite was true. Kris was using his footwork to stay just outside of Devon’s reach, constantly retreating, forcing Devon to keep moving to catch up. Kris was effectively leading Devon around the ring. Step in, evade or block Devon’s shot, jab or counter, step back out of range to lure Devon forward. Kris would get close to the ropes and purposefully stop and cover up to provoke Devon. Thinking Kris was hurt or scared Devon, completely misreading the situation, would drop his defense to hammer on the “overwhelmed” Kris. Kris would use those opportunities to block or evade Devon’s highly telegraphed shots, and get in two to three shots of his own. A jab to the eye, a hook to the jaw, a straight to the ribs, an uppercut to the abs, and then evade and move to the side and prepare to start the leading game all over again. Rinse and repeat for almost four rounds. The only thing that surprised Kris, was that Devon never seemed to notice the pattern.

Kris looked himself over while in the corner, seeing his arms just starting to show bruising from blocking Devon’s strong punches. They didn’t hurt too much right now, but he was going to feel it after the adrenaline left. He was pretty sure he had evaded more shots than he had blocked, but Kris knew he was never going to be able to escape them all. While against the ropes Devon would ultimately land a head or body shot that rocked Kris, and Kris would take a few straights while trying to keep his distance in the middle of the ring. A serious misjudgment during the 3rd round allowed Devon to hook Kris just above the eye, but Kris was able to react quickly and move away before Devon could follow up. The damage was regrettable, but with the exception of the hook to the eye, it was also somewhat calculated. Kris’ plan to tire Devon out would only work so long as Devon was exerting himself. Kris had to let Devon land some punches, keep Devon thinking he was on the verge of landing that one big hit that would end it. As long as Devon was in that state of mind, he would keep moving forward to catch Kris, keep throwing ineffectual power punches trying for one big hit…keep draining that precious energy reserve. And Kris’ plan had worked for the first four rounds.

Kris looked across the ring at Devon seated in his corner, smiling as he admired his handiwork. Devon’s body was red and bruised from continual body shots, geared towards further reducing Devon’s stamina. His face marked and busted from repeated hits to his face. Blood was showing around his mouth, and Devon’s right eye was already forced shut from swelling. But most importantly, Devon was panting, gasping for air! Kris realized he must have really damaged Devon’s nose because he was gulping air through his mouth trying to catch his breath. Maybe Kris’ punches weren’t one-hit haymakers, but they were strong and he was landing them with a frequency at least five times that of Devon. Frequency wasn’t the only difference. Devon’s punches, when they landed, were delivered for power, but not accuracy. A body shot here, a head shot there, and often Kris was able to move his body to minimize the damage of the blows. Kris’ shots were comparably lighter, but much more precise. He was hitting Devon exactly where he wanted to. Jabs to Devon’s eye until it swelled shut. Body shots to the solar plexus and liver to take his breath away. Hooks to his chin to rattle Devon’s brains. And now Devon was the broken man sitting across from Kris, probably still thinking he was just one punch away from turning it all around.

Kris was having a great time. His plan had worked perfectly. Devon’s haymakers had become less and less frequent over the fight, and they were now slow, no longer packing the same power Kris had experienced in the early rounds. Devon had started jabbing more since the 3rd round, probably because it took less energy. They weren’t fast crisp jabs like Kris’, more like Devon was pawing at Kris to keep him at bay. Kris still had the stamina to go for another four rounds, but he knew that wasn’t going to be necessary. This round Kris was changing it up. Now with Devon’s stamina depleted, the chase game was over. Now it was time to end this.

The bell rang for the 5th round and Kris pushed his gloves together in anticipation watching Devon as he struggled to take his stance. Kris charged across the ring at Devon, who had barely moved out of his corner before Kris was on him. Kris smiled at the startled look on Devon’s face, and Devon’s half-raised guard being surprised by Kris’ sudden change of tactic. Kris grabbed the opportunity and instead of opening with jabs, went straight into a left, right, left, right, combo smashing Devon’s head with four powerful hooks before Devon could bring back his guard and move away.

Now the tables had turned and Devon was the one retreating from Kris. Kris wasn’t about to play hunter, better to make the prey come to him. Kris stood in front of Devon and lowered his guard, grinning at him, daring him to make a move. Still shaken from the opening attack, Devon seemed reluctant to want to approach Kris now. Kris picked up his footwork, bobbing towards Devon, grinning, laughing at Devon. He raised his arms out to the sides and waved Devon forward, in a ‘come get me’ gesture, taunting Devon in front of the arena.

Kris knew making Devon look foolish would provoke a reaction, and Devon didn’t disappoint a few seconds later when his patience ran out. True to form, Devon flew at Kris with a giant hook. Kris was ready and he easily batted the wild punch away with his glove while driving a heavy uppercut into Devon’s abs. Devon came to a full stop and gasped as his breath was forced from his body. Kris started peppering Devon’s face with quick right jabs, more to annoy Devon and keep his attention away from the left hand Kris was keeping cocked. The moment Devon moved to take a shot, Kris released his left and beat him to the punch. Kris’ fist and arm fired upward exploding into Devon’s jaw knocking his head directly back. Knowing it would take Devon a few seconds to recover from the uppercut, Kris moved to Devon’s left-hand side, into Devon’s blind spot caused by his swollen eye. Kris planted his feet and put everything he had into a powerful right hook aimed for Devon’s head. WHAM! The sound was heard throughout the arena and Devon’s head turned so fast it looked like it might have spun off. The impact opened Devon’s mouth causing his bloody mouthpiece to fly out across the ring.

At this point Devon was barely conscious. The impact of the last hook caused Devon to fall against the corner ropes, but he somehow managed to stay on his feet. Kris knew the fight was going to be stopped shortly, by either the referee or Devon’s corner throwing in the towel, but he wasn’t finished making his point. Kris rushed over to Devon placing his left glove on his chest to hold him steady. Kris raised his right fist and let fly.

WHAM! POW! Three, four, five…Kris slammed continual right straights into the left side of Devon’s face. Like a jackhammer banging away with power shot after power shot. Kris got off seven consecutive shots before the referee grabbed Kris and pulled him away to stop the carnage. Devon just simply collapsed in the corner of the ring, like a marionette whose strings were cut. There was no count.

Kris raised his gloves and flexed his biceps as he walked around the ring to the cheers of the crowd. After Kris was announced the winner, as he was leaving the ring Kris regarded Devon, still immobile on the mat surrounded by his cornermen and medics, and made a mental note that he would have to question Devon about his interest in a re-match when he got out of the hospital.