"Oh, but you make it so easy," the Death Monarch cackled, sidestepping Volk's furious lunge and twisting his arm, forcing him to his knees.
"Hand-to-hand combat is an art, Ogre. It's not about wild swings; it's about efficiency."
He pressed his boot against Volk's back, pushing him into the dirt before stepping back with a mocking gesture.
"You're strong, but you're like a child with a sledgehammer."
Volk's muscles tensed, veins bulging as he pushed himself up, his breathing ragged but filled with pure rage.
He swung wildly, each punch laced with the intent to obliterate. But the Death Monarch danced around him, almost lazily, landing counter after counter with brutal precision.
"Forty-five," he laughed, delivering a bone-jarring punch to Volk's jaw.
"Forty-six!" A vicious knee to the stomach. "Come on, is that all you've got?"
