Metal. If I had to describe what blood smelled like, it would be metal. Don't get me wrong, I don't smell blood for the fun of it, that's just fucked up. I'm talking about when you get punched in the nose and the blood starts pouring out. That's the situation I found myself in the night of my 5th pro fight. It was about 2 minutes into the third round, and I was tired as shit. My opponent had just executed a nice double leg takedown, and had me pinned down in side-control. Every time I tried to breathe, the fucker would shift his weight and cut off my air. It sucked. To top it all off, he was pinning my head to the mat with his left elbow, and every few seconds, he would pick up said elbow and slam it down on my face. Hence the bloody nose.

"Get up you idiot!" I heard my coach shout from outside the cage. "Don't just lay there! Get up!"

I love it when people call out instruction from outside the cage. I feel like calling back "Get up? Why the hell didn't I think of that?" Getting up would have been awesome. It would have made my life so much easier. But in order to get up, I first had to get my opponent off of me, and that just wasn't happening.

Another short elbow strike slammed my head onto the mat dazing me.

"You've gotta' work Dez!" the referee warned.

I managed to get to my right hip and turn into my opponent creating some much needed space between us. He tried to reestablish the pin by driving back into me, but I slid my right knee across his midsection to block the advancement.

"Pull guard Desmond!" My coach called.

"That's what I'm doing asshole!" I thought to myself.

I pushed my opponents head away with my left hand creating more space. I then wrapped both legs around his waist as he tried to drive back in. I sat up quickly, grabbed the back of his head, and pulled him down to keep him from posturing up to hit me. To the uneducated viewer, guard looks like a bad position due to the fact I am on my back, and the opponent is on top. But in that moment, guard was my saving grace. My legs were wrapped around his waist which means I was in control of his movement, and as long as I controlled his posture, He couldn't hit my face. Sure he started unloading on my rib cage, but I didn't give a shit. Anything was better than the face.

The bell rang and the ref jumped in to separate us. I slowly clambered back to my feet and made my way back to my corner.

"Sit." Coach Achilles said in a disgusted tone.

He practically shoved my into my stool as he placed a bag of ice over my swollen nose.

"He's won all three rounds so far. The only way you're gonna win this fight is if you knock his ass out, or submit him."

"Don't worry" I panted. "I've got him right where I want him."

Achilles pulled the front of my shorts, and poured some cold water down my crotch. I flinched at the sudden discomfort, and I felt a shot of adrenalin.

The ref motioned for us to stand up.

Achilles grabbed the stool and headed out the cage door.

"Knockout or submission!" he yelled as the cage door shut behind him.

"Are you ready?" The ref pointed at me.

I nodded, staring down my opponent.

"FIGHT!"

I charged in looking to catch him off guard with a quick take down. Next thing I knew, the whole world went black.

"Shit."