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#Post#: 2878--------------------------------------------------
Haunted by the Past - Chapter 05 - Duped to Death
By: RampageSports Date: February 10, 2016, 8:54 am
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Haunted by the Past - Chapter 5 - Duped to Death
She looked terrified.
That might seem logical. After all, she was likely in way over
her head with little time to prepare for what was about to
happen. But I've been doing this a long time, and what I was
seeing from the woman across the ring made no sense, at all.
Every opponent I've ever faced shared one thing in common. They
were too stupid to be afraid. It didn't matter if it was her
first fight or her hundredth. Every one of them thought she
could beat me. You don't come to a place like this if you don't
think you can win. I've seen many foolish people get destroyed
in rings just like this one. People who weren't ready and had
no idea what they were getting into. It didn't seem like all
that long ago that I was one of those fools. The first time I
fought against a serious opponent was not a night I like to
think about very much. But, make no mistake... before the fight
started, I was sure I was better than she was.
Was I delusional? Absolutely. But scared? No.
The girl across from me now was younger than I was... a trait
more and more of my opponents seemed to have in common, these
days. Her dark brown hair was pulled back from her unlined face
and tied off in a high ponytail on top of her head. Her outfit
was simple... grey sports bra, black fitted shorts and a pair of
black fingerless gloves. Her torso was lean and athletic, and
her movements told me she had certainly done this before. But
there was something about the look in her eyes that just didn't
fit with the rest of the picture.
I don't know what she was told to get her to agree to this, but
she definitely looked like she wanted to change her mind.
I looked around for Powers, but he was nowhere in sight.
Neither was his finely dressed companion. I did notice a number
of big, surly types strategically positioned outside the ring.
Contrary to what he'd said earlier, it looked like Powers was
more concerned with restraining his 'patrons' than entertaining
them.
I turned back and eyed my opponent... unable to escape the
feeling that something wasn't right.
The announcer/referee appeared at ringside. Actually, that was
quite a stretch. His announcing responsibilities were to
introduce the fighters before we started, and to call out the
winner when it was over. His only other job was to count to ten
if one of us fell to the floor. There were no rules in these
fights, so there was no need for an actual ref.
I had no visible reaction when my name was called. I was too
busy trying to figure out just what was going on here.
I didn't hear my opponent's name, mostly because I didn't care.
With the introductions over, a bell sounded from somewhere in
the room, and the fight was under way.
I came out of my corner quickly, looking to see how she
responded to some pressure. She was capable and she defended
very well to start, but it didn't take long for her inexperience
to show through. She was tentative and slow to attack. When
she did attack, I was able to side-step and counter her easily.
Before long, she stopped attacking and turtled up to try and
limit the damage. This left me free to take my time picking her
apart if I wanted to. But I was mindful of the crowd and the
show we were supposed to be giving them. I started throwing
quick attacks in bursts... pulling my punches and doing little
damage, while creating the impression I was actively going for
the kill. The strategy allowed me to stay in control by keeping
her on the defensive, which is how I wanted it. If I let her
get any shots in, I wanted it to happen on my terms.
Even with my half-hearted attacks, I could she was starting to
get marked up. Some bruising was apparent on her torso, and
there was a small amount of swelling beneath her right eye. I
was hoping that might help people believe in this little
charade, but before long, it was obvious my approach wasn't
going to be enough. I could sense the crowd growing restless
and angry... not buying what I was trying to sell them. And the
fact that this tomato can of an opponent Powers had trotted out
here wasn't willing to throw a punch wasn't helping matters.
Without realizing it, I started to grow angry myself. This sh*t
wasn't my job. I'm not a movie producer... I'm a fighter. I
don't know how to make a fight look good. I only know how to
fight a good fight.
Now I have to figure out a way to make her look better before
they start tearing this place apart.
The first thing I needed was for her to start fighting back. I
slowed my attacks, laying back in the hopes she might come out
of her shell. It took a few moments, but, she eventually
realized she had an opportunity to do something. She shot out
her jab, and I ducked down to the right and countered with a
quick right to her midsection. The blow fell short
deliberately, and I danced away and let her reset.
Emboldened by my retreat, she came after me. She shot out the
jab again, and I could already see her turning into the right
cross. I caught the jab on my guard, and barely managed to slip
the cross as an electrifying pain shot through me. I moved away
quickly to gain space and figure out what the hell had just
happened.
The pain I felt started where her blow had landed on my guard.
It was commonly known as a stinger, and it happened most often
when a punch lands flush on the narrow, bony side of the
forearm. That kind of precise impact doesn't happen frequently,
and it's not what happened here. I had caught her punch on the
back of my hand, yet the pain I felt was like nothing I'd ever
felt before. Most shockingly, the impact that caused it had
traveled right through my own glove.
Without conscious thought, I shifted into survival mode, because
there's no time to solve problems in the middle of a fight. As
she closed again, I gave no thought to putting on a show.
Instead, I slipped inside her jab, then hit her with a straight
right that landed cleanly in the center of her face. I followed
by a left hook to her body, then pivoted into an uppercut that
exploded under her chin and sent her to the grimy canvas.
The first cheers of the night erupted as she crumpled. Many in
the crowd were imploring me to press on and finish her... likely
because the fight was terrible, and they just wanted to collect
their winnings and go. But I wasn't listening. I had my own
problems to deal with.
I let the half-assed ref start his count, while I removed my
glove to survey the damage. There was a large red circle
covering most of the back of my hand. It had gone numb, and I
flexed my fingers a few times to try to get some feeling back.
It didn't help much, but it also didn't generate any new pain.
So, it didn't look like anything was broken... though there was
going to be one hell of a bruise later on.
I continued to rapidly clench and unclench my fist as I wondered
what could have caused this. Maybe the punch just happened to
catch me the wrong way. Or maybe my glove wasn't on right.
Whatever it was, I was out of time for worrying about it. With
the assh*le at ringside counting at half speed, the count had
only reached five by the time my opponent regained her feet.
Apparently, someone had decided the show had to go on.
I strapped my glove back on and prepared to continue, dismissing
what had happened as nothing more than a fluke.
Not even for a second did the real truth enter my mind.
As the fight resumed, I immediately tested the injured hand by
throwing a few jabs. I don't know whether it's condition had
actually improved or whether it was just completely numb, but
either way I felt no pain. That meant I'd still be able to use
it, which was all that mattered.
I went back to pressuring her for a while until I felt
comfortable again. Unfortunately, the fight itself was turning
into a complete joke. She was letting me dictate every step of
the way, and the crowd was making it known that they were fed
up. Once again, I was forced to back off and let her mount an
attack. This time she came in low, launching a long, looping
left hook that was so telegraphed, I could have grabbed a bite
to eat and still had time to get out of the way. But I willed
myself to stay and take the punch. I figured I had to let her
land one eventually and I'd prefer a body shot over deliberately
taking a blow to the head.
The punch landed with such force, it felt like her fist had gone
right through my skin and landed somewhere inside me.
"Aaaah!" I cried involuntarily.
I had never been hit so hard in my life. The force of the blow
drove the air from my body, and I was helpless as her right hand
came around from the opposite side and smashed into my face.
I stumbled a couple of steps before I got a foot planted. Then
I wobbled a drunken step in the other direction, and fell face
first to the canvas.
Now, the crowd was silent... a room full of people who were
looking at their sure bet laying motionless on the canvas.
I was conscious, but only barely. At first, I didn't move a
muscle. The room spun so violently, I couldn't even dream of
trying to get up.
"Four!" was the first number I heard the announcer call out.
Apparently the slow count was only for my opponent.
I got my hands under me and fought my way to all fours. I
waited there until the room stopped spinning and I blinked my
eyes rapidly to get them to focus.
"Six!"
Somehow, I had missed five.
I brought my head up and found the ropes directly in front of
me. I grabbed the bottom one, and hauled myself up one rope at
a time.
"Nine!" the announcer called as I got my feet under me.
I was completely out of it, and I looked it. If this were a
boxing match, it would be over... with the ref declaring me
unfit to continue. But, here... if a fight ended without
someone laying totally out on the canvas, then the people who
bet on the loser would go ballistic. And in this room, almost
every dollar was on me.
Even with the extra security, there was no way this crowd could
be contained. The better move would be to let her beat the hell
out of me until I finally stopped moving.
I leaned against the ropes for support and tried to take stock
of the damage.
I had broken enough ribs to know what the agonizing pain that
came with every movement meant. My left eye was almost
completely swollen shut, and the screaming pain beneath it told
me I might have broken something there, too. I could taste
blood in my mouth, and I could feel it running down my cheek
from a gash somewhere near the eye.
All of that from two punches.
Something was definitely wrong. Something was wrong, and it had
to have something to do with her hands. It's possible she was
holding something heavy... like a fishing weight... in her
palms. But the more likely answer was that something was wrong
with her gloves.
"FIGHT!" the announcer called, and I groggily turned my head to
see my opponent coming at me.
I wanted to defend myself. In my mind, I did. But, in reality,
I never even took my arms off the ropes.
She didn't have to square up or use any technique. I offered no
resistance as she simply wound up and smashed her fist into the
center of my face. My nose broke instantly as the punch drove
my head straight back with such force that I was nearly knocked
out of the ring. I laid there, looking up at the ceiling as I
hung limply over the top rope. Then my weight shifted and I
slid liquidly down to the canvas.
By now, everyone in the room had figured out something wasn't
right. A murmur spread through the crowd, punctuated by
occasional angry shouts. Those shouts quickly grew more
numerous as a full-fledged riot started to take shape.
No one knew exactly what was going on, but they knew they were
being played.
Things started to turn violent, and the crowd seem to erupt in
one giant roar. It didn't matter if the announcer was counting
or not, because no one could hear him.
I don't know how long I was down... I only know my first
movement was a simple turn of my head as I groaned. There was
no way to describe what I felt, because it was almost as though
I couldn't feel anything. The pain was everywhere, and it so
uniform, it almost seemed normal. And if I had given that
concept any thought, I would have realized it was insane.
But my mind was too busy... too consumed with a single thought.
GET... UP!
I pawed with my left hand until I found the rope, then started
the climb once more. The going was much slower this time, and
there was no question I'd been down for more than ten seconds.
But, f*ck it... that wasn't my problem. I wasn't interested in
winning or losing.
I was interested in finding out what that b*tch had done to me.
And then I was going to make her pay.
The crowd quieted as I stood, bent and leaning against ropes. I
didn't even muster the strength to turn around... content to
hook my arm over the top rope and turn my head to find my
opponent.
"FIGHT!" the announcer said again, after a moment's hesitation.
My opponent strode toward me confidently, intent on finishing
the job.
Once again, I made no effort to get my guard up or even stand up
straight. I just hung there and waited. She turned her body as
she neared, getting ready to put her all into a final blow.
And just before she did, I threw myself off the ropes and bowled
into her, sending us both crashing to the ground.
She tried to scramble out from under me, crawling backwards like
a crab. I grabbed a fist full of her top with my left hand and
refused to let go. She dragged me for a few feet before I got
the timing right, leveraging my grip as she pulled to haul
myself up and pin her down. I slung my right hand up and
slammed my fist into her face with everything I had. It wasn't
much, but it helped that she wasn't expecting it. With her
hands pressed to the mat as she crawled, she had no way to
defend herself. The force of the blow was enough to daze her
and let me pull myself up to mount. One, two, three times I
slammed my right hand into her before she managed to pull her
arms in and cover up.
As soon as she did, I grabbed her right arm and yanked it
straight. Again, the element of surprise was on my side. An
armar is not a tactic you expect in a fight where there is no
such thing as a submission. But this was not about winning the
fight, and she seemed to sense it immediately. She squirmed
beneath me... instinctively rolling in a panicked attempt to get
free. I made no effort to stop her, because I knew it was a
stupid thing for her to do. I focused on keeping hold of the
arm, and she continued to turn until she was face down on the
canvas. Before long I was sitting on her back, with her arm
passing between my legs. Just like that, I had complete control
because she had given away any chance she had. She couldn't
swing at me, and she couldn't maneuver without putting pressure
on the arm.
I squeezed her wrist and pulled the arm back until I heard her
scream. Then, I went to work on her glove, tearing wildly at
the strap. She balled her fist, desperate to keep me from
removing it. I gave up on the glove, grabbed her arm with both
hands and wrenched it viciously.
My message was clear: I had no reservations about breaking her
arm, if it came to that. In fact, I was perfectly willing to
break her fingers, one by one, if that's what I had to do.
Such tactics are not normally my style, but I was not myself.
My fury was the only thing keeping me going, and it was already
out of control and getting worse by the second.
I was being played, and I was going to prove it. I didn't care
what it took. I was getting that glove.
And if my suspicions were right... god help her.
It didn't take long for her to realize she had no choice. She
opened her hand, and, after quite a struggle, I managed to jerk
the glove free.
Though there is a small amount of variation, the gloves we use
are all basically the same. For a woman, a single glove is
usually six or seven inches long, about six inches wide and it's
filled with four to six ounces of padding to protect the
wearer's hand.
Though I'd never actually seen one before, I knew the glove I
now held in my hand was what's known as a sap glove. It looked
exactly like the ones I wore, but it was at least twice as
heavy. That's because, instead of lightweight cushioning, this
glove was filled with a powder made from a dense metal...
probably lead. The purpose of the substitution was to allow the
wearer to inflict as much damage as possible with every strike.
In other words, I had spent the fight hitting her with my padded
fists, while she had been hitting me with small cannonballs.
This was a place where violence, greed and bloodlust run rampant
while civilized society looks the other way. But even here,
there are limits. Despite the seediness of the venue and the
Neanderthal nature of the audience, there is an understanding
between the fighters that certain boundaries can't be crossed.
What she had done was way... WAY... outside of those boundaries.
I released her arm, allowing her to slither away and regain her
feet.
I stood up slowly, turning very deliberately to face her... a
dark look of pure hatred on my face. I stared at her coldly as
I held my hand out in front of me... the glove resting flat on
my palm.
The fear in her eyes was obvious. If I were thinking
rationally, I might have taken that fear into account. Maybe I
would have considered it in relation to the reluctance she had
shown before the fight even started. Maybe I would have put the
pieces together and taken the time to fully understand what was
happening in this god-forsaken sh*thole on this night.
But I was well past the point of such rationality.
I was no longer aware of where I was or of the crowd around us.
All I could see was her, and the glove. All I could feel was
anger... an anger fed by a single thought.
She had tried to kill me.
That was not an exaggeration. These fights are violent and
vicious. Death is always a possibility. To bring a weapon into
the mix elevates that possibility to something approaching
certainty.
Whatever her motivation was, she was clearly prepared to do
whatever it took to get what she wanted. I was just an
obstacle... just a random thing that stood in her way.
I slowly closed my fingers around the glove, squeezing it
tightly as I seethed. Then, in one fluid motion, I drew my arm
back and returned what belonged to her. Forcibly.
Growing up in a house with three brothers had to be good for
something, and one of the few benefits I'd gained from it was
that I don't throw 'like a girl.' So, I didn't just fling the
glove in her direction. I wound up, stepped into the throw and
whipped it straight at her face.
My aim was true, and the glove slammed into the bridge of her
nose. She staggered for a step, then dropped to the canvas.
I didn't wait for a count. I strode purposefully across the
ring, straddled her body, and slammed my right fist into the
center of her face. Then I pulled my hand back, and did it
again... and again... and again.
I wish I could say I was paying her back or punishing her for
what she'd done, but I really wasn't. Something about what
she'd done... about the way she had treated me like some
worthless piece of trash she just needed to discard... made
something snap inside me. Rage had taken over every inch of my
body, and there was no conscience to keep it in check.
I just kept pounding her like a piece of meat... like she wasn't
even human. It was easy for me to do, because, at that moment,
I wasn't human.
I finally stopped when two sets of big, strong arms took hold of
me and physically lifted me off of her. Two of the men who were
there to control the crowd had come into the ring to put a stop
to the bludgeoning. It wasn't a problem for them to retask
because the crowd had gone stone silent. Part of it was that I
had won, so they were going to get their money. But most of it
was the shock of what they'd just witnessed.
A room full of low-lifes and violent scumbags who had come here
for the sole purpose of soaking in the glorious violence had
been stunned into silence by the horror I'd just produced.
As they dragged me out of the room, reality started to set in
and the weight of what I'd done began to settle on top of me.
Even in my woozy state, I had this sense that I had crossed a
line I never expected to get near... and there was no going
back.
[hr]
Character Reference
[img]
HTML https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=0Bz8YsEjMxOhMODlHdGhIanZrTWs[/img]
Name: Richelle Winterfeld
Nickname(s):
Background: Owner of the RSI stable, former underground fighter
#Post#: 2879--------------------------------------------------
Re: Haunted by the Past - Chapter 05 - Duped to Death
By: RampageSports Date: February 10, 2016, 8:55 am
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Here's that credit, as promised: both 'fighter me' and 'older
me' are portrayed by model and amateur MMA fighter Jenae Noonan.
;)
#Post#: 2881--------------------------------------------------
Re: Haunted by the Past - Chapter 05 - Duped to Death
By: Dragons Den Date: February 10, 2016, 9:02 pm
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Wow. That was brutal. I think I fell off the edge of my seat at
one point. That was mental. I am enthralled, and enjoying every
moment. Great work, Richelle. :)
#Post#: 2883--------------------------------------------------
Re: Haunted by the Past - Chapter 05 - Duped to Death
By: RampageSports Date: February 10, 2016, 9:11 pm
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[quote author=Dragons Den link=topic=408.msg2881#msg2881
date=1455159765]
That was mental.
[/quote]
I don't think I've ever gotten a more appropriate bit of
feedback. ;)
#Post#: 2884--------------------------------------------------
Re: Haunted by the Past - Chapter 05 - Duped to Death
By: umma-manager Date: February 10, 2016, 9:40 pm
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Holy S**t....Wicked stuff, Richelle. Brutal and physical...I
loved reading every second, although it will probably give me
nightmares.
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