both of them who had the advantage and skill. And with the bell, Roy took over. He jostled Micah instantly with a quick high face kick, forcing Micah to retreat to the wire cage.
Micah stood and turned as Roy leapt at him, hitting the cage. However, Roy continued to come at him, striking Micah as he attempted to duck. Another knee-kick combo, this one hit him square in the face. Micah felt a warm, familiar pool gather around his eyebrow. Blood. It trickled down his face, clouding his vision.
Now, even more wounded, Micah had nothing to lose. He began to strike out wildly, hoping to land something, anything. He could hear the voice of his coaches narrating the match for him, screaming at him to move left or right. Micah felt the man come near him, attempting to grab his neck with his long arm. He ducked, but Roy again managed to push him to the ground, taking both of their bodies down in the same motion.
A sea of red flooded his vision, as Micah used every bit of his energy to move his head in quick ducks. He used his hips and thighs to grab against Roy’s own body, flipping him over in reverse. Micah finally had his moment and he sought as many hammer hits as he could get. Precious seconds ticked down before the bell forced Micah off. His time dominating was short-lived.
An official leapt at him, pushing a towel to his face, asking him questions. Micah’s body gave in, falling forward slightly in exhaustion. The official repeated his questions again with Micah giving feeble answers, enough to allow him to stay in the ring.
As the two men lined up for the last round, Micah had a moment where he realized he could give up. He could bow out with the eye injury without losing much of his reputation. But before he could make his decision, the bell had rung again, and Micah was back in it for better or for worse.
Roy again came out blazing. He seemed so full of energy and life for someone in the final round of a fight. Micah could barely stand, let alone muster up the strength to deliver anything but soft blows. He again found himself telling himself to tapout, to submit.
Each strike became a death sentence. Each kick was willing him to give in. As Roy managed to power him down to the ground once more, Micah had only just enough in him to use his lifted legs again to prevent the man from getting too much of an advantage. More of Micah’s blood splattered on his opponent’s bare chest.
Faced with no way out, he lifted his hand to make the motion of defeat. He turned his head towards the cage, avoiding the glare from the octagon ring’s harsh lighting. Everything he saw went pale and fuzzy, as his mind dimmed from the force of the hits. Micah was defeated, and this was the time to let it go.
His hand hit the mat, as he searched the crowd once more for a sign, for anything to keep him going. From the corner of his clear eye, a vision appeared. Surrounded by gold and white, it screamed his name over and over again. He used his strength to peel away from Roy. He needed to see what was making that sound. He slipped out of the grip, staggering back to his feet.
Moving around the octagon, Roy on his heels, he saw her. Alice, standing in the aisle of the first row, was shouting his name, calling out to him. She had arrived with a mere minute left in the final round, enough to see Micah badly beat and bruised. It was agony. Every hit and kick that he took, she took too.
Micah took a deep breath as he was able to steady himself. His good eye was fixed on Alice in his peripheral. He had to fight for her. He had to win this for her. He summoned every bit that was left in him and ran at his opponent with a full burst. Grabbing his leg, he took him down in a single takedown. He wasted no time, pummeling the man with his fists and elbows.
Each hit was for her. Each strike was for her. His opponent transformed from a fighter to the face of his former coach, to the people in his life
Micah stood and turned as Roy leapt at him, hitting the cage. However, Roy continued to come at him, striking Micah as he attempted to duck. Another knee-kick combo, this one hit him square in the face. Micah felt a warm, familiar pool gather around his eyebrow. Blood. It trickled down his face, clouding his vision.
Now, even more wounded, Micah had nothing to lose. He began to strike out wildly, hoping to land something, anything. He could hear the voice of his coaches narrating the match for him, screaming at him to move left or right. Micah felt the man come near him, attempting to grab his neck with his long arm. He ducked, but Roy again managed to push him to the ground, taking both of their bodies down in the same motion.
A sea of red flooded his vision, as Micah used every bit of his energy to move his head in quick ducks. He used his hips and thighs to grab against Roy’s own body, flipping him over in reverse. Micah finally had his moment and he sought as many hammer hits as he could get. Precious seconds ticked down before the bell forced Micah off. His time dominating was short-lived.
An official leapt at him, pushing a towel to his face, asking him questions. Micah’s body gave in, falling forward slightly in exhaustion. The official repeated his questions again with Micah giving feeble answers, enough to allow him to stay in the ring.
As the two men lined up for the last round, Micah had a moment where he realized he could give up. He could bow out with the eye injury without losing much of his reputation. But before he could make his decision, the bell had rung again, and Micah was back in it for better or for worse.
Roy again came out blazing. He seemed so full of energy and life for someone in the final round of a fight. Micah could barely stand, let alone muster up the strength to deliver anything but soft blows. He again found himself telling himself to tapout, to submit.
Each strike became a death sentence. Each kick was willing him to give in. As Roy managed to power him down to the ground once more, Micah had only just enough in him to use his lifted legs again to prevent the man from getting too much of an advantage. More of Micah’s blood splattered on his opponent’s bare chest.
Faced with no way out, he lifted his hand to make the motion of defeat. He turned his head towards the cage, avoiding the glare from the octagon ring’s harsh lighting. Everything he saw went pale and fuzzy, as his mind dimmed from the force of the hits. Micah was defeated, and this was the time to let it go.
His hand hit the mat, as he searched the crowd once more for a sign, for anything to keep him going. From the corner of his clear eye, a vision appeared. Surrounded by gold and white, it screamed his name over and over again. He used his strength to peel away from Roy. He needed to see what was making that sound. He slipped out of the grip, staggering back to his feet.
Moving around the octagon, Roy on his heels, he saw her. Alice, standing in the aisle of the first row, was shouting his name, calling out to him. She had arrived with a mere minute left in the final round, enough to see Micah badly beat and bruised. It was agony. Every hit and kick that he took, she took too.
Micah took a deep breath as he was able to steady himself. His good eye was fixed on Alice in his peripheral. He had to fight for her. He had to win this for her. He summoned every bit that was left in him and ran at his opponent with a full burst. Grabbing his leg, he took him down in a single takedown. He wasted no time, pummeling the man with his fists and elbows.
Each hit was for her. Each strike was for her. His opponent transformed from a fighter to the face of his former coach, to the people in his life
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