Skull Showing Through
Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Deep breath in. He sat on the stool in his corner, sweat dripping into his eyes and blood pumping out of the gash on his forehead above his right eye. His trainer held a bag of ice against the bag of his neck. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. His cut man worked on his forehead, trying to stem the bleeding and prevent any more blood from running into his eyes and obscuring his vision, frantically trying to work within the sixty seconds between rounds. The primal roar of the crowd seemed far away.
“Stick to the plan, stick to the plan. Keep your distance, use your reach. Keep popping him with the jab. Take those chances on leg kicks, you’re choppin’ away and hurtin’ him but watch out for the shot, don’t let him take you down again. You won the first round and this one. Let’s take him out!” His trainer gave him a sip of water while the cut man didn’t say anything, concentrating on his job. He sure as hell didn’t win the second round. He grew a little overconfident after he outboxed his opponent, affectionately nicknamed the “Axe Murderer”, throughout the first round, mixing his punches with some vicious leg kicks, his shins connecting with crushing force his opponent’s thighs. When the Axe Murder had tried to get bring him into a clinch and drag him to the ground, he used his Muy Thai training and cracked a string of knees into the rib cage while his opponent was in close.
He felt strong going into the second round, but the Axe Murderer had faked a right hook two minutes in before changing levels and diving for his legs, dragging him down to the mat. The Axe Murder worked to gain a dominant position, passing his guard and gaining a full mount, straddling his chest and sitting straight up. This allowed him to get plenty of momentum behind a furious storm of punches and elbows. It was a right elbow that finally slipped through his defense and cracked against his forehead, ripping his flesh open straight to the skull. Blood and his consciousness fled from his head in equal, copious amounts, and he desperately reached up, trying to hold grab hold of the Axe Murderer’s arms to prevent any more strikes or to hold him close and not let him get any power behind his blows. He didn’t really remember the bell ringing to end the round or the referee separating the two fighters, only sitting back on the stool in his corner as his cut man tried to shut off the fountain of blood from his forehead.
In the third round he came out firing leg kicks, trying to do more damage to the Axe Murderer’s legs and snapping his jab, stepping away from his foe and using his longer reach to keep him at a distance. Blinking away the stinging blood that ran into his eye, he kept the Murderer at bay, who began to limp heavily as he chased him around the ring.
“Hey, hey, fuckin’ focus man” his trainer yelled, snapping him out of the memory of the first few rounds as he shoved his mouthpiece in. “How many years have you trained for this? How much have you sacrificed for this title shot? Now go out and take care of business!”
The fourth round began, and the two fighters marched to the center of the ring and touched gloves in respect, backing away a step or two before raising their hands again and circling each other, waiting for an opening. The Axe Murderer faked another right hook and went for his legs again, and weary from blood loss, he was taken down again. Working furiously to gain a dominant position, his opponent tried to get a full mount. As the Axe Murderer tried the transition to a better position, he swept and spun his hips and threw the Murderer aside, both fighters scrambling on the ground. He ended up behind his enemy, reaching over his shoulders and around his neck with his right arm. The Axe Murderer grabbed his right wrist, trying to pull the arm away from his neck, and he pounded his face with his free left fist in retaliation. The Murderer let go of his right wrist to defend his face, and he sank his right arm in tighter against his opponent’s neck, bringing his left arm down again and abandoning the punches to the face. Grabbing his left bicep with his right hand, he began to squeeze, tightening his grip on the Axe Murderer’s carotid arteries and shutting down the blood flow to his brain. He flailed against the choke, but it was in too deep. The referee pulled the limp Axe Murderer out of his grip, and the new light heavyweight champion rose to his feet, utterly exhausted, bleeding badly, and never more happy in his entire life.