Kuznetzov didn’t need to waste any time on his own recovery. He hadn’t stopped to catch his breath .. didn’t need to. He never seemed to need to.
Spetznaz had seen him keep up a punishing regime against a punch-bag in the gym. He’d only paused his punch-out .. for the sake of the black. For the sucker to feel the pain. Kuznetzov called a brief time-out .. so the black sucker could see how much pain he was in. And Kuznetzov was hardly off his starting blocks.
Minimally Kuznetzov closed one eye .. taking aim like a sniper .. he adjusted the crosshairs of his punches a little. He swiped his forehead on his bicep. He took a manly whiff at the effort in his armpit. .. all without taking his eye off the gasping prisoner. Then without warning he moved in fast again. Fists flying .. this time pounding away right on the stud’s breast bone. Straight arm punches .. in a blistering attack that brooked no defence. Mind-blowingly rapid .. one forceful strike after another .. no chance for the black to catch his breath.
Kuznetzov was built for speed. Lean muscle power backed by incredibly lightning-fast reactions.
He’d cage-fought for the regiment before they drummed him out. His quickness was any match for opponents twice his size and weight. And the moment he sensed his opponent was floundering .. any sign of weakness .. that was a red rag to a bull .. his blood got up. In for the kill. Then there was no stopping him.
The first fighter he maimed .. the regiment let him off with a severe caution. The second never recovered from brain injuries. Kuznetzov was dismissed, his crime covered up. His officers claimed he was insane. Once the bloodlust had him .. it was like he went mad.
Punches had forced the black stud back at the extreme of his restraints .. couldn’t go any further back .. trapped in place by ropes .. blasted by fisted cannon-fire. Arms pulled forward by the overhead bar, torso back as far as it went. And chain-punched .. relentlessly .. breath-takingly fast, a blur .. pitiless. No escape .. a violent rainstorm of breath-taking blows pounding at the black’s sternum.
Kuznetzov smacked away at him like at his favourite punch-bag .. his well-rehearsed punishing routine. There was no getting away for the black. And the blows just kept coming. Kuznetzov’s body was in overdrive .. his mind like possessed. A mind-body combination of devastating force. And the blows just kept coming. And the speed just kept up. No let-up. No slacking off. Not a whiff of tiredness. Dozens of crippling punches in .. each devastatingly smacked into the black’s chest. And the blows just kept coming. A never-ending barrage .. like getting hit by a power-hammer, a machine inexorably pounding away at the black chest.
Another half-minute of body-devastation .. the black seemed held paralysed by the force hammering at him .. snorts, grunts, broken cries .. any show of pain could not last, each cry cut off at the root .. broken by another crippling blow .. cracked by a merciless stream of chain-punched hits.
A half-minute, Kuznetzov let up. Still tense .. body still taut in devastating fighting mode .. ever-ready. But the punching stopped. As if a switch was thrown, the black stud cried out .. in the same instant as that last body-crunching fist. The pain-overload in his black torso broke free. A loud man-in-pain bawl .. pain, anger. But above all, pain. Will-breaking pain.
Kuznetzov never missed a chance. He got in a surprise strike. Kuznetzov lifted his sights. He raised his game. An uppercut into the black’s upper abs. In at the straining top muscle row .. punching in under the ribcage .. hard, the sickening sound of a solid thud of fist on strong belly muscle. A force that lifted the black stud in his restraints. Blasting all the wind out of him. Smacking the fight out of him. Shock swiped the legs out from under the sucker. He dropped. He jarred. He hung. He yelled. The black sweated with pain.