Unlike usual, Aramaki doesn't fight back. Instinct pushes him to escape, to get out of range. He flicks out a single jab, not to hit, just to disrupt so he can slip through any opening.
But Cortez halts only briefly, a fraction of a second, before pressing forward again, forcing Aramaki back against the ropes. He doesn't relent, punch after punch rains down from close range, fast, hard, and precise.
Aramaki twists his torso, angles his guard, shifts his head, but still, punches slip through, hitting ribs, sides, even grazing his forearms.
Dug. Dug. Bugh! Dug.
Dug. Dsh! Dug. Bugh! Bugh!
"Cortez is relentless, hammering away at every opening!"
"Aramaki's defense is holding, but barely. He's under constant pressure!"
The assault continues, a relentless rhythm. Sweat drips into his eyes, chest heaving, yet Aramaki makes no move to counter. His gloves rise and fall with the impact, absorbing each strike, muscles tensed to survive the barrage.
