The moment had finally come. My last fight. As I stepped onto the ring, my eyes locked onto Alice Griphia, my opponent. She stared back, a sinister smile curling her lips. That unsettling grin sent a chill down my spine. I knew nothing of her fighting style, but I was about to find out.
The referee signaled the start. The fight began. I raised my guard, fists clenched, muscles taut. Cautiously, I approached her, my steps deliberate on the worn ring floor. At a meter's distance, her smile hadn't wavered, still as unnerving as ever. Without thinking, I threw a quick jab, aiming for her face. She blocked it with her left hand, a sharp, almost casual motion.
Suddenly, her left foot slammed onto my leg, throwing me off balance. In a flash, she leaped, her body spinning with feline agility. Her right leg arced toward my head. I tried to parry, but a sharp pain shot through me—this lunatic was still gripping my right hand, locking it in place. I couldn't defend myself. The back of her foot crashed into my temple. A white flash exploded in my vision. Before I could react, her elbow smashed into my face, a brutal blow that cracked my bones. I collapsed to the ground, the metallic taste of blood flooding my mouth, a warm trickle running from my nose.
She loomed over me, her smile intact, as if savoring my pain. Dazed, I rolled onto my side and swept my leg, aiming to trip her. She dodged with a nimble jump, her legs effortlessly avoiding my attack. But I'd planned for it. Still on the ground, I pushed off with my hands, launching my body upward. My foot shot out, striking just below her jaw. In a fluid chain, I followed with another kick, this one slamming into her jaw. The impact echoed through the arena. Yet, she remained standing, unshaken, her smile barely faltering.
I sprang to my feet, adrenaline surging through my veins. Blood dripped from my mouth and nose, but a faint smirk crept onto my face. She was bleeding too, a thin stream of crimson trickling from her lips, yet her grin held strong. Our eyes locked, burning with defiance. Then, she charged.
She rushed toward me, fast and unpredictable.
I dropped into a low guard, ready to counter. She leaped, her leg rising in a perfect arc, aiming for my head again.
I reacted, building momentum to meet her with a high kick of my own. But she was too high, out of reach. Her foot sliced through the air, about to crash into me.
At the last second, I grabbed her right arm, jerked my head aside, and let her blow land on my shoulder. The pain was excruciating, a jolt that stole my breath.
If that kick had hit my head, I'd have been out cold.
Using her momentum, I yanked her left arm downward, dragging her to the ground with me.
She screamed as I began twisting her wrist. She thrashed, her fists pounding into my back with brutal force.
Each blow sent a wave of agony through my spine, but I held firm.
With a sharp motion, I snapped her left hand.
A sickening crack rang out. Without giving her a chance to recover, I wrapped my right leg around her right arm, pinning it down.
She was on the ground, her face exposed, defenseless.
I struck. A left. A right. Again. Again. Again. My fists rained down, relentless, splattering the ring with her blood and mine. After more than twenty blows, I stopped, gasping for air. My hands, slick with blood, trembled. I looked up at the referee. He flinched under my gaze and signaled the end of the fight.
I had won.
The arena was cloaked in oppressive silence. The floor, stained with my blood and Alice's, seemed to scream what the crowd could not.
I staggered toward the medical room, each step a battle against the pain. My shoulder, my back, my head—everything burned. Alice's blows had left deep marks, not just on my body. I clenched my teeth, refusing to collapse in front of the spectators. But halfway there, my legs gave out. Darkness swallowed me.