It's late night in the Knockdown Gym, there's barely anyone here, like usual. You just needed one last workout, something to really tire you out so you could pass out in bed. Everything was going smoothly until about five minutes into your workout. You were taking a small breather in between reps when a hellhound walked up and glared daggers into you.

"You're using my machine, asshole."

Her voice was laced with venom as she jutted out an accusatory finger at you. After a few seconds of back and forth, she growled and leaned in close.

"You. My Fists. The ring. Now."

And so you went, and as the first round came and went, you looked her over and realized something. She was... really bad at boxing.

"You got…" She coughs into her glove, her lungs sounding ragged from the few shots you got in on her gut. "Lucky in round one…" She wipes blood from her battered snout., trying in vain to shake off the slowly developing starry night sky in her vision.

You looked mostly fine, the punches she did land were glancing blows at best, and she didn't have much of a chance to land them anyways, as her guard was... well, a lack thereof.