Pugilists

The boxers each stepped into the ring, rolling their shoulders as the loosened up, looking everywhere in the ring but at each other. Neither was afraid of the other - they merely wished to ensure that the first look they gave the other was an intimidating one that would attack the opponent's spirit, dampening their willingness to fight. It was the first blow to be delivered in the fight, before they were even permitted to throw a punch - perhaps the most important blow to be thrown in the entire fight. They faced their corners, garnering cheers from the audience, before finally turning to one another as the referee called for their attention.

They approached the center, staring each other down with an intenseness that the audience could barely register from their positions. The referee eyed them both, judging whether or not they were of sound mind to fight and if either of them was liable to strike out illegally. Satisfied with his fighters, he called for them to bump fists before sounding the bell and leaping back. In an instant the two closed the distance between them, striking hard at one another's faces simultaneously, the heavy thuds resounding through the boxing hall before the screaming cheers overpowered them.

There in the ring the two traded blows, one after another, their fists pummeling into each other unrelentingly, their legs bracing hard into the floor in order to remain standing as they pushed hard to topple the other. They hammered against each other's guards, the gloves they wore barely more than a thin layer of cloth between their knuckles and their opponent's flesh. They pounded endlessly against each other, feeling the blows landing, but also the ones they were being hit with, knowing that for the time it wouldn't do much, but in a matter of minutes every part of their beings would be aching and begging them to fall. The only thing keeping them standing would be their will. Their spirit.

But it was also a matter of technique. One threw a hook, aiming to slip behind the other's guard, but was surprised to feel his fist slice through the air. His eyes glanced down instinctively, his brain knowing that he couldn't move fast enough. His opponent was low, weaving in below his arm, fist shooting upwards into his rib cage. His air abandoned him instantly, forced out of his lungs, and he felt his knee buckling beneath him. And then the second fist was flying, directly at his face, and he stared at his own hands as they were dropping.