Lye. Freaking. Ulroke.

Out of all the people to be the street fighter's next opponent, it had to be Lye Ulroke. The voice of the hitman-for-hire rang all to familiar through the ears of Zack. If it were not for the assassin's huge miscalculation in underestimating the force of will of the Ixian Knights, neither of the combatants would be in this particular situation. Zack raised his arm over his mouth and spat a piddle of blood upon his arm. He knew better than to show weakness in front of a man known for capitalizing on such things.

Ulroke jettisoned forward with a reared fist the second the announcer finished his sentence. Zack's eyes darted between the right and left fist of his foe. Just as the brawler prepared for the hit, Lye darted left and threw his punch. In response, the younger warrior bobbed the upper half of his body in the same direction of the hook, the knuckles of the assassin caressing the unkempt strands of hair. Two years ago, Zack Blaze would have avoided such a fist with ease and countered quickly with a blow of his own.

Time could change someone a lot.

Still in one fluid motion, Zack moved circled the upper half of his body around, his right fist aimed towards the suspicious left hand of his target. His left fist moved to strike the baron of bones in his gut. Zack could feel the blood in his mouth well up again as his perception became wobbly for a moment. He spat blood once more, this time attempting to go for the eyes of his too close enemy.

"Given you're track record, the council is gonna have to do a lot better if they wanna keep me in here UlChoke," the smile creeped across his face with stains of crimson mixed into the squares of ivory. Time could change someone a lot, but Zack Blaze would always be an arsehole.