Post by Daimon Darren on Aug 26, 2018 16:10:42 GMT -4
Darren was certainly an idiot most of the time. But when faced with a good opponent, something clicked. The lazy jab had only partially worked, only allowing him a glancing blow, and he saw her disappear in the bottom-left corner of his field of view.
Years of experience fighting inside and outside of a variety of rings, streets, parks and schoolyards of Tokyo amounted to these few instants of pure, refined concentration. His instincts told him what was coming next; the target he offered was too tempting. He shifted his weight forward as much as he could before Kanna sweeped his right foot off the ground.
He was without support for an instant before he slammed down his left, found a precarious balance, used it to push with his toes and twist his waist to wrestle his torso upwards and regain a hold of himself with both legs firmly planted on the ground. More or less. It was a feat of coordination that only a few pros could pull off. Kanna certainly was no pushover; it was simply Darren’s insane experience doing him the courtesy of moving his body for himself.
He was on guard when the punch came and he managed to put his left elbow down in front of him and cover his flank, absorbing the body blow on his arm. It was a good one; he felt the power dissipate through his block; he could not absorb it all, no matter how tough he was. He had to steel his stance for a second, allowing the blonde to get away. His concentration seemed to break.
“Too soon indeed. God damn, you almost did sweep me off my feet here. You’re exactly the kind of goon I hoped would show up,” he said grinning through his guard. “But you’re a thousand years too early to get Daimon Darren on his back,” he boasted. “Y’all in the audience watch closely. I’m about to show you the finest refinement of Darren-Style Anything Goes Martial Arts.” He added with a shout: “AKANE! YOU’RE NEXT!”
And with that, he stepped in again, and his concentration from earlier was back scarily quick. This time, he weaved his head, feinted right with his shoulders, stepped in on the left side, threw a jab and a lead hook in quick succession, stepped further left, peppered his target with another jab, stepped right, sprang his right fist for a quick cross, stepped back, poked her guard with a left whip kick.
This was Darren’s true style; hitting from everywhere, using a bastard mix of techniques from across the globe that couldn’t really be qualified as a proper MMA style, it was a street-refined chimera of a martial art, and it had one hell of a bite and more than a few tricks up its sleeve. Darren’s style was to stay on the ball of his feet and pepper his opponent with countless quick attacks to confuse their guard, never staying in one place long, fishing for a mistake to punish with a well-timed counter.
Only when Darren was focusing like this did he display his full potential, and it was the reason the old man at the boxing gym in Musutafu was pestering him about getting a professional boxing license lately. Even without using his quirk, the delinquent’s innate sense for fighting made him a formidable opponent, one that the old trainer hoped to take, at least, to the Japanese belt. If he could get Darren to go and take the pro test first.
Even now, his blue-eyed stare was cold as ever and he was frowning, betraying his intense concentration and the fact that he would eat the pro boxer license test in one bite. He was attacking her guard with his glare as well as his fists, scanning it for the next opening to poke at, for the first signs of a mistake to punish. His fists were tensing and twitching, his shoulder rolling to keep Kanna on her toes, guessing at which move was real and what wasn't.
One thing remained the same, however. Darren was still grinning madly, running high on adrenaline and competitivity.
Years of experience fighting inside and outside of a variety of rings, streets, parks and schoolyards of Tokyo amounted to these few instants of pure, refined concentration. His instincts told him what was coming next; the target he offered was too tempting. He shifted his weight forward as much as he could before Kanna sweeped his right foot off the ground.
He was without support for an instant before he slammed down his left, found a precarious balance, used it to push with his toes and twist his waist to wrestle his torso upwards and regain a hold of himself with both legs firmly planted on the ground. More or less. It was a feat of coordination that only a few pros could pull off. Kanna certainly was no pushover; it was simply Darren’s insane experience doing him the courtesy of moving his body for himself.
He was on guard when the punch came and he managed to put his left elbow down in front of him and cover his flank, absorbing the body blow on his arm. It was a good one; he felt the power dissipate through his block; he could not absorb it all, no matter how tough he was. He had to steel his stance for a second, allowing the blonde to get away. His concentration seemed to break.
“Too soon indeed. God damn, you almost did sweep me off my feet here. You’re exactly the kind of goon I hoped would show up,” he said grinning through his guard. “But you’re a thousand years too early to get Daimon Darren on his back,” he boasted. “Y’all in the audience watch closely. I’m about to show you the finest refinement of Darren-Style Anything Goes Martial Arts.” He added with a shout: “AKANE! YOU’RE NEXT!”
And with that, he stepped in again, and his concentration from earlier was back scarily quick. This time, he weaved his head, feinted right with his shoulders, stepped in on the left side, threw a jab and a lead hook in quick succession, stepped further left, peppered his target with another jab, stepped right, sprang his right fist for a quick cross, stepped back, poked her guard with a left whip kick.
This was Darren’s true style; hitting from everywhere, using a bastard mix of techniques from across the globe that couldn’t really be qualified as a proper MMA style, it was a street-refined chimera of a martial art, and it had one hell of a bite and more than a few tricks up its sleeve. Darren’s style was to stay on the ball of his feet and pepper his opponent with countless quick attacks to confuse their guard, never staying in one place long, fishing for a mistake to punish with a well-timed counter.
Only when Darren was focusing like this did he display his full potential, and it was the reason the old man at the boxing gym in Musutafu was pestering him about getting a professional boxing license lately. Even without using his quirk, the delinquent’s innate sense for fighting made him a formidable opponent, one that the old trainer hoped to take, at least, to the Japanese belt. If he could get Darren to go and take the pro test first.
Even now, his blue-eyed stare was cold as ever and he was frowning, betraying his intense concentration and the fact that he would eat the pro boxer license test in one bite. He was attacking her guard with his glare as well as his fists, scanning it for the next opening to poke at, for the first signs of a mistake to punish. His fists were tensing and twitching, his shoulder rolling to keep Kanna on her toes, guessing at which move was real and what wasn't.
One thing remained the same, however. Darren was still grinning madly, running high on adrenaline and competitivity.