Chase felt the snap of his right hand connecting flush on Zulu's chin, the kind of shot that jolted straight through the knuckles.
Zulu's legs buckled, his stance collapsing for a moment, his arms lifting high out of instinct rather than control. Chase's eyes lit up instantly.
He didn't pause. He surged forward, pouring on strikes, short hooks ripping around the guard, uppercuts sneaking straight up the middle.
Every thud echoed, each punch driving Zulu further back until his shoulders hit the fence.
Zulu tried to fire back, swinging a wide right, but it was slow, his balance already broken.
Chase ducked under and came back with a crushing knee up the middle. It smashed into Zulu's jaw, snapping his head back violently.
Zulu dropped to a knee, dazed, but Chase gave him no space. He yanked Zulu's head down into the clinch, framing his arms tight, and hammered another knee straight into the skull.
The sound was sharp, dull bone against bone.
