He was once merely a performer, a pretend fighter. A dabbler in spectacle who desired the juice contained in the root of his art. He craved, -no- spiritually hungered for..... combat. And so he trained. Fortifying his mind and soul as plaforms with which to lay disciplines upon. Boxing, wrestling, moo-ee tye, brazilian jiu-jitsu, judo, sambo, tiger schulman's karate. Hours became days became months became years. Through the hellfire of ache, through injury so severe a mortal would have quit at the descriptions of them, through all of that.... he continued to ready his weapon. Just so when that door closes, that bell rings, and his eyes lock on his target.... he is.... he will be....
Wildly mediocre. Probably. But hey, I'd fuck his girlfriend.