RNP Page 230
Page 230
"My God! My God! What happened?!"
The commentary booth erupted in cheers, voices hoarse with excitement: "Vladimir has been knocked down! Viktor Lee!"
"He unleashed a... a perfect combination of punches! Precise, fierce, and efficient, like a computer program!"
"This is not the Victor Lee we know, the one who would still test us! He's evolved!"
"Incredible! His fighting style has become...smarter! Full of tactical intent! Taking control of the middle, using body strikes to weaken the opponent, then following up with a hook to the head!"
"This combination is so classic! But the way he executes it so smoothly and quickly makes it incredibly destructive! I feel like I'm seeing a giant Tyson!"
“This was absolutely not one of the contingency plans prepared by Wladimir Klitschko’s team! They are facing a completely new, evolved Viktor Lee!”
In the boxing ring, Victor did not roar to the sky or pound his chest as he used to.
He strictly followed the corner's instructions, silently retreating to the neutral corner, his eyes as cold as the Siberian permafrost, staring intently at his staggering opponent.
Like the most patient hunter, examining the wounded and dying prey, waiting for final permission to step forward and finish the job.
Below the stage, Ethan stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the corner pillar, and merely nodded slightly, a barely perceptible smile flashing across his lips.
Everything is going according to plan.
Old Jack looked at Victor, then at Ethan, realizing that Victor had abandoned his plan and instead chosen Ethan's fighting style, which was more in line with Victor's strength!
Looks like my contract is about to expire!
The entire venue erupted in cheers, drowning out old Jack's dejection.
"...Four! Five! Six!"
The referee's countdown resonated heavily in everyone's hearts.
Little Klitschko shook his head, which seemed to be filled with lead and was buzzing. When he counted to "six," he forced himself to stand up with great willpower.
He gestured to the referee that he could continue, but his once calm and rational blue eyes were now filled with shock, physical pain, and a hint of confusion.
Viktor's speed and the precision of his combination punches are completely different from when he defeated Vitali Klitschko six months ago!
This was no longer the beast from those videotapes they had repeatedly studied, but a highly skilled killing machine!
The referee waved his hand, and the bell rang to continue the game, like a death knell.
Without the slightest hesitation, Victor pressed forward again like a cannonball.
He would never give this experienced champion even the slightest chance to catch his breath or adjust his rhythm.
Beat a drowning dog to death—this is the oldest rule in boxing, and it's something Ethan repeatedly emphasizes: "Once you smell blood, don't let him breathe!"
Wladimir Klitschko attempted to rebuild his signature jabs and control, but his rhythm had been completely disrupted by the combination punches.
The excruciating pain in his body—especially the tearing, throbbing pain still emanating from his liver—disrupted his nerves, making his punches more cautious than ever before, even... tinged with hesitation and vulnerability.
The jab has lost its former sharpness and intimidation, becoming more like an instinctive, time-delaying defense.
Viktor's footwork was now like a ghost, constantly swaying left and right, with a series of highly deceptive feints from his shoulders, allowing him to always avoid those sporadic, weak jabs by the slightest margin.
At the same time, they continued to press firmly towards the center, gradually compressing Klitschko's space to move.
His gaze was terrifyingly focused, and Ethan's warning echoed clearly in his mind:
"Don't let him lead you, forget his Olympic champion title, create your own rhythm, pull him into your storm! Make him drowning!"
The first round lasted two minutes.
The intense, high-pressure offense and defense made time seem to be accelerated, yet also seemed to be stretched infinitely.
Klitschko was forced to the edge of the ropes by Viktor's relentless and aggressive attacks, his back against the elastic ropes.
This is a unique predicament in his career.
Wladimir Klitschko attempted to use the ropes for a defensive counter-attack, lowering his center of gravity and using a high stance to tightly protect his head and chin—a classic trap to wait for his opponent's relentless attack to create an opening before delivering a fatal blow.
However, Viktor's frenzied attacks were tinged with cold calculation.
He seized this opportunity for a decisive victory!
But he didn't immediately throw a heavy punch in a fit of rage.
He first made a quick feint forward, then his shoulder suddenly slumped forward, as if he were about to deliver another heavy right hook.
That feint was incredibly realistic!
Exhausted and under intense tension, Klitschko instinctively leaned back and raised his already tall frame an inch higher to protect his head, which had already been hit hard.
Just at this moment!
It tricked the opponent into focusing their defenses!
Viktor Lee suddenly lowered his center of gravity, and his right fist, which seemed to be about to strike the head, drew a strange, slight arc, and a heavy, short right hook slammed into the left side of Klitschko's torso!
It's the liver area again!
The continuous, relentless blows caused the pain there to increase exponentially!
Old wounds haven't healed, and new ones are piling up!
"Ugh—!"
Little Klitschko let out an uncontrollable, extremely painful cry, and his body once again experienced violent, uncontrollable convulsions and spasms.
His hands, which were protecting his head, instinctively and uncontrollably sank slightly—even if only for a fraction of a second—trying to protect the area of his body that was in excruciating pain and had almost made him faint.
This fleeting, ephemeral opening was more than enough for a heavy gunner of Viktor's caliber!
The death knell of the end is tolling loudly at this moment!
Viktor's entire body strength exploded in a coordinated burst, his right foot slamming into the ground, the power traveling to his waist and hips, twisting his hips and shoulders, the power flowing through him like a spring that had been compressed to its limit being suddenly released, and finally all of it was poured into his right fist!
A powerful right straight punch, like a cannonball fired from a gun, traveled along a straight, brutal, and efficient trajectory towards the head of Little Klitschko, which was drooping slightly due to the excruciating pain in his body, and whose famously tight defense had developed a fatal gap!
The combined force of 1,200 pounds creates a striking power beyond imagination.
Target: Above the brow bone!
The hardest, and also the easiest place to tear open a wound!
You can even faintly hear terrifying, subtle sounds of skin tearing open and flesh splitting, or even the possibility of a fracture in the brow bone!
Although almost drowned out by the enormous sound, that terrifying texture was transmitted through the microphone of the television broadcast to countless breathless viewers around the world!
The sound of a fist hitting flesh was heavy and muffled, sending chills down one's spine!
Klitschko's neck rippled like ocean waves, the force even reaching his waist and abdomen, but such power was impossible to resist.
His gaze instantly became unfocused, all focus vanished, and his pupils dilated.
All the lights, all the sounds, all the shouts, all the glory, all the perseverance inside the stadium…
It seemed to vanish from him in an instant, swallowed by endless darkness.
Little Klitschko's tall, once invincible body stiffened for a moment, then, like a towering tree felled by a giant axe, it fell straight down without any buffer, with a slow, unsettling illusion, before collapsing backward with a heavy acceleration!
He slammed heavily onto the boxing ring, even bouncing slightly.
The dust seemed to rise slightly because of it.
He fainted immediately, lying there motionless, as if time had stood still for him.
The referee immediately rushed forward, without any hesitation or even bending down to count the seconds, and forcefully waved his hand to stop the game!
Round 1, 2 minutes and 20 seconds! Match over!
The entire venue was silent for 0.1 seconds.
Immediately, a tsunami-like roar erupted!
Exclamations, screams, ecstasy, and incredulous shouts... all blended into a boiling ocean!
Flashes of light rained down as people tried to capture this earth-shattering moment, one that would forever be etched in boxing history!
"It's over! The fight is over! Unbelievable! Victor Lee! Victor Lee! He did it! He's the WBA champion."
The commentator roared at the top of his lungs, almost jumping out of the commentary booth.
Victor stood in the center of the boxing ring and slowly raised his arms.
He didn't celebrate wildly; he simply tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, as if to forever etch the scent of victory into his lungs.
Sweat glistened on his body as if it were coated with gold.
In the audience, Max Black finally broke into a clear smile and clapped enthusiastically.
Meanwhile, Klitschko's team rushed into the ring in a panic, surrounding their fallen king.
A new era has arrived in the most violent, cruel, and shocking way—and the first sacrifices were the Klitschko brothers.
Then, Victor roared to the sky, releasing all the pressure and doubts at that moment!
He waved his fists, accepting the waves of shock, ecstasy, and boos coming from all directions.
He pointed to Max Black in the audience, then to the gold belt on his own body.
The ninth title defense was completed in the most spectacular way!
The referees and medical staff quickly surrounded Klitschko to conduct an examination and provide first aid.
Fortunately, he did not suffer any fractures;
Unfortunately, Klitschko did not regain consciousness, and the wound on his forehead was bleeding profusely, requiring immediate treatment.
Chaos erupted in the commentary booth.
"Unbelievable! A massacre! A perfect storm! Victor Lee defied all predictions! He wasn't a beast tonight, he was a master! A master of destruction!"
“We must tip our hats to Viktor Lee and his team! The arrival of the Fiery Girl, in particular, has clearly made a decisive difference for Viktor! Vladimir was completely lost in the energy that dominated the Chicago Typewriters tonight; he never got into the rhythm of the game!”
The audience experienced a stark contrast between joy and sorrow.
Victor's fans went wild, hugging each other and roaring in celebration of the unexpected and swift victory.
Meanwhile, the vast European audience remained deathly silent, staring in disbelief at what was happening on stage, unable to accept that the technological genius they had placed their hopes on had been destroyed in such a pathetic manner.
Viktor's team erupted in cheers, and the coach rushed onto the stage to hug Viktor tightly.
Max, however, maintained his smile, slowly stood up, and clapped softly, as if everything had already been destined.
In a corner near Wladimir Klitschko's boxing ring, his team members, pale-faced and panicked, rushed to check on their boxer. The coach clutched his head in anguish.