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The bright red clad Breanna Rhodes started Round 2 in a much stronger fashion. Unfortunately, that only meant dodging and deflecting most of Dara's output instead of eating it with mustard and salt. She landed where she could, but there was only so much she could do while her opponent did her best impression of a buzzsaw. Breanna pivoted and deflected, scored and defended, but couldn't shake the feeling that she was still swimming upstream. Dara's relentless aggression was a million times easier to pick apart from the safety of a TV screen where she could notice her habits without the persistent threat of eating a right hand.

But even this rainstorm couldn't hide its silver lining. The UCLA med student threw with bad intent and good technique. Ever so slowly, Breanna could sense something changing, Dara not mixing up her movements and actions as much as she was before. For the first time since she'd entered the cage, Breanna could see the patterns in Dara's assault: the half step advance after the jab, the strafing one two into a side kick or a clinch attempt. There was the beginning of a rhythm there if she looked hard enough.

But looking didn't mean winning, and Breanna still hadn't unraveled the blue haired medical student trying to put her to sleep by any means possible.

Description

Previous: www.deviantart.com/cfmech/art/…

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The bright red clad Breanna Rhodes started Round 2 in a much stronger fashion. Unfortunately, that only meant dodging and deflecting most of Dara's output instead of eating it with mustard and salt. She landed where she could, but there was only so much she could do while her opponent did her best impression of a buzzsaw. Breanna pivoted and deflected, scored and defended, but couldn't shake the feeling that she was still swimming upstream. Dara's relentless aggression was a million times easier to pick apart from the safety of a TV screen where she could notice her habits without the persistent threat of eating a right hand.

But even this rainstorm couldn't hide its silver lining. The UCLA med student threw with bad intent and good technique. Ever so slowly, Breanna could sense something changing, Dara not mixing up her movements and actions as much as she was before. For the first time since she'd entered the cage, Breanna could see the patterns in Dara's assault: the half step advance after the jab, the strafing one two into a side kick or a clinch attempt. There was the beginning of a rhythm there if she looked hard enough.

But looking didn't mean winning, and Breanna still hadn't unraveled the blue haired medical student trying to put her to sleep by any means possible.