There will be blood. Lots of it. There will be bloody noses and lips and knuckles. Blood will trickle from cuts. It will streak and spackle the canvas, leaving it looking like a slaughterhouse floor. When Justin Gaethje fights, plasma flows, just as surely as the sun sets in the west.
There will not be blood. No bad blood anyway, Justin Gaethje may want to divorce his opponent from limbs and consciousness. But it is never done with personal animus. It’s not merely about respect or the sharing of some sense of dark comradeship; he often likes the other guy.