A/n: Originally, this chapter was going to include Mathias versus Ivan, Matthew versus Nikodemos, and Alexianos versus Berwald, but that was going to turn out way too long. So Alexianos versus Berwald will be in the next chapter.
Enjoy.
xxx
The weeks passed by quickly, just like they always did.
I soon found myself in the locker room before the WCFL event started. "WCFL 253- Ascension" was the title of the event. My fight, my oh-so brutally trained-for fight, was once again and undercard fight. There were seven fights on the card, and mine was considered to be the least important, so I would kick things off to build suspense for the Main Event, which would happen after six fights.
The seven fights were, from undercard to maincard; Køhler versus Braginski, Williams versus Antonov, Lorinatus versus Fernandez, Vargas versus Beilschmidt, Begovich versus Johansson, Novkovic versus Adnan, and then finally Kirzigian versus Oxenstierna. They were all great fights scheduled. Once my match was over and done with, and my post-fight conference was finished, I was to go out and watch what I could. There was no way I was missing Alexianos and Berwald's fight. Thankfully, it wouldn't be hard for me to get a seat. Tino, Alexianos' husband, had taken the grace of reserving a front row seat for me.
"Alright, rookie. Five minutes 'till showtime. You ready for this?" Tolvorn's voice piped up from the entrance of the locker room. I stood from the bench and ran my gloved hands through my hair, letting a heavy breath out.
"Yeah. Let's do it." I looked to him.
"Remember, kid." My coach approached me and put his hands on my unclothed shoulders. "Get him to the ground and don't let him get any advantages. This is what we've worked for. After six weeks of hell with Eduard, are you going to lose this?"
"No, I'm not."
"That's the spirit, rookie. Here; I got you a custom-made mouth piece. Just arrived like a half hour ago." My coach placed a mouth guard in my hand. I took a look at it and smirked. It was adorned with the Danish flag.
"Wear it proudly, you Danish rookie." He said, chuckling a bit. I slipped the mouth guard in; to my surprise, it fit my teeth perfectly. Tolvorn must have had it custom made with a mold from one of my other mouth guards.
After a few moments of waiting the door to the locker room opened and a man in a "staff" t-shirt poked his head in.
"Your guy is up, Tolvorn. Showtime." The man then left.
Tolvorn looked back to me. "Let's get out there and kick some ass, Mathias. Braginski's got nothing on you."
With that, we exited the locker room and went through the tunnel, heading out into the stadium. Bright lights above my head cast colored spots on the sold-out crowd, who cheered wildly. Cameras filmed from everywhere; this was live television after all.
Fans reached out from their seats and patted my arms and back; I gave a few of them high fives, but mainly focused on the octagonal cage ahead. I was going to be the first to be in the cage; I would get to see the crowd's reacting to the entrance of Ivan Braginski.
I walked into the cage, the all-too familiar feel of the light-warmed mat beneath my feet. I went to my corner and waited for Braginski to enter. I breathed slowly as the crowd erupted into a thunderous cheer after what was probably fifteen seconds of waiting; Ivan Braginski had exited his locker room.
I spotted him as he made his way to the doors of the cage; he was wearing white and blue board shorts, with numerous sponsor logos on them. He was soft in muscularity, but I knew he was strong. He used his height and weight against his opponents. He, despite his intimidating aura, had a smile on his face, just creepy enough to get me to cringe slightly. Was I really prepared to fight someone who played a mental game, as well as a physical game with their opponent?
I guessed we would find out soon.
The announcer, a guy I learned had the name of Brian O'Keeffe, stepped up to the center of the octagon to introduce Ivan and I.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, we are live! Starting off our pay-per-view event here in the sold-out WCFL Center, we have an undercard fight. Introducing first," Brian motioned to the man across from me.
"Fighting out of the red corner, with a record of 23-11, this man is a boxer, fighting out of Volgograd, Russia… Standing at six feet three inches tall, weighing in at two-hundred pounds… he is Ivan "Heartless" Braginski!"
The crowd cheered loudly for the Russian man, who put one fist in the arm, smirking at me. I refused to let him get to me.
"And now, introducing second, fighting out of the blue corner with a record of 3-0, this man is a Generalist, fighting out of Copenhagen, Denmark… Standing at six feet tall, weighing one-hundred ninety pounds… He is "The Rookie" Mathias Køhler!"
I stepped forward slightly and raised my hands in the air as the crowd cheered; I had decent recognition on the league. Going 3-0 wasn't easy to do.
I stepped back into my corner and let out a slow breath, curling my hands into fists as the media and coaches cleared the cage. My eyes were locked with Braginski's; we were ready to fight.
Once the cage was cleared and the ref stood in the center of the mat, my Russian opponent and I got into fighting stances. Braginski had a rather tall stance, his back straight instead of slightly hunched like mine.
"Are you ready?" The ref asked my adversary and I. We both nodded.
"Let's get it on!" The ref swung his arms down and the bell was rung, signaling the start of the first round.
Braginski and I circled eachother for a few moments, before he stepped forward with a heavy body shot. I guarded then came back with a counter, connecting a right fist with the side of his head. He stepped back then stepped forward once again with a ducking overhand punch, which I parried. He brought his arms up to guard his head, which gave me a chance to strike his body. I lifted my foot off the ground and placed a hard push kick to his stomach, which caused him to take a few steps back.
He, with a smirk, shook his head slightly, glaring right at me. I found myself slightly caught off guard as he surged forward with a flurry of heavy yet quick punches; some of them I blocked, but others connected.
When he went for a final right hook as I stumbled back, dazed, I ducked down, causing him to miss. I surged forward and wrapped my arms around the abdomen of the Russian man. He placed his hands on my back, making an attempt to get me off of him, but it was too late. I shifted my weight downwards and brought my hands down to his thighs, lifting the two-hundred pound man off the ground just enough to slam him down on the ground with a heavy thud.
We tangled for a few moments before I got stuck in full mount against the Russian's chest. He was trying with all his might for me to not get to the point where I could easily knock him out. He was breathing heavily already, and Matthew Williams' words ran through my mind.
"Ivan's cardio is lacking."
I resisted the urge to smirk as I formulated a plan in my head. Beat down his body so that it was harder for him to breathe. Exhaust him with grappling.
I slipped down into side mount and began to brutalize his right side with knees while holding him down the best I could. But holding down a two-hundred pound man was more difficult than you would think. He rolled out from under me and we both stood. I was breathing only slightly hard, while Ivan was now trying to regain his breath. The crowd erupted into chants of "Rookie" and I found myself with a slightly smug smile on my face. Braginski obviously dislike this and, despite his exhaustion, went forward with a few sloppy punches. I easily parried them and got in a Muay Thai clinch, my hands on both sides of Braginski's neck. I pulled him towards me with one knee up, landing a vicious knee to his face. He stumbled backwards, blood now streaming from his busted nose.
The crowd cheered even louder in reaction to the blood, which drove me to taunt my opponent by laughing slightly. He smiled and shook his head, ducking with a jarring overhand left that connected with the right side of my forehead. It stung like hell, and I felt blood trickle down into my eye. Now we were both bleeding.
I swiped a hand over my eye to clear the blood from it and circled Braginski for a few moments. Now we were like sharks, sent on the attack by the smell, or in this case, sight of the red liquid emergind from our wounds.
I threw a hard leg kick at Braginski, followed by a second kick with my other foot that connected with his right side. He grunted and cringed; I knew that side was hurt with the punishment I had dished out earlier with my knees.
He lowered his stance and his arms so that it was easier to guard his body. I stepped forward, and without much of a second though, did an axe kick which struck Braginski's head twice; once with the top of my foot when it was going up, and once with my heel when it was coming back down. He fell down from the second hit onto his stomach, but wasn't knocked out. He was merely stunned. I clambered on top of him and got into a back mount, wrapping my arm around his neck and pulling back; he used his weight against me and kept me from being able to get him into the correct position for a rear-naked choke. I released his neck and moved to side-back mount, my knees once again striking his exposed right side while I held him down to the mat.
He, in order to protect his damaged side, rolled over and pulled my head down to his chest. I was now in side mount, but I had started to tire. All this effort to wear him down was starting to wear me down as well. Despite my slight exhaustion, I reached over and used the side of my fist to pound on that right side of the Russian some more. With each hit came a grunt and a cringe from the worn out man. When we were both not making any attempts to change our position on the ground, the ref stepped in and forced us to stand up. I now got a perfect look at the damage I had done.
Braginski's side was swollen and bruised, and his right arm was now covering the area the best it could in an attempt to prevent further damage. I knew my constant brutality to that side was hurting him.
I glanced up at the clock hanging from the ceiling of the stadium, checking how much longer was left in the round. Five seconds were left, so I merely stepped back and waited. When the bell rung, Braginski and I returned to our corners.
Our coaches came out and I watched as the medical staff placed a bag of ice on the side of my Russian opponent as he sat down. I sat in the stool provided to me and breathed steadily, catching my breath. I hardly minded the pain I felt was the medical staff on my side worked on temporarily sealing the cut on my forehead. Tolvorn grinned and began to talk to me.
"That was amazing, Mathias. That round was all yours; you don't need to change anything. You're wearing him down very well. Just keep hitting that side; once he thinks that his body is all you're going to go for, bring out punches to the face. Kicks to the head. Knees like you did to break his nose. You're doing fucking amazing. How're you feeling?" I gave him a thumbs up.
"Great. Now get in there and win this." With that, Tolvorn and the medical staff exited the cage. I stood and shook out my hands before closing them into fists once again. Braginski was soon up, and I felt satisfied that he now had a more serious look on his face. I had beaten that creepy smile off his face.
When the bell was rung as a start to the second round, I went on the attack. I launched a roundhouse kick to that damaged right side, but to my surprise, he took the hit and grabbed my leg, pulling me close then taking me down. He still had a grip on my leg tight against his right side as he brought himself into half guard, sitting on my left leg. I guarded myself as he threw a few strong punches at me with his free left hand, but many of them landed, and I was feeling it. He pounded a fist on my forehead, reopening the cut that he had previously made, before letting go of my leg and moving up to full mount. I struggled to defend against his transitions due to the fact that I now had a two-hundred pound man sitting on my stomach.
I did my best to keep his head down on my chest, but he went over my arms to my head with those vicious elbows I had seen before. Now I knew what kind of hell Gilbert Beilschmidt had gone through.
I attempted to punch his right side, but he guarded and then took his opportunity to get his head off of my chest. Now he was wailing on me with those large gloved fists of his, body shots and shots to my head and face. I did my best to guard, but was countered each time. Every time I guarded my face, he struck my exposed ribs. Every time I guarded my body, he struck my face. Things now weren't going my way.
Blood from my face dripped down and stained the mat, and blood that had begun flowing once again from Braginski's broken nose now speckled my chest and arms.
"Shift with your hips, Mathias! Roll over, shoulders first, and then turn your hips; your legs will follow! Get out of that position!" A new voice joined in from my corner, once I recognized to be that of Eduard Von Bock.
With what strength I could muster, I turned my shoulders to the left, making myself perpendicular with the mat below me. With a quick shift of my hips, Ivan was now on my back. I brought my knees up and got myself off the ground so that my opponent wasn't crushing me.
I felt one of his blood-covered arms wrap around my neck, but he failed to get the submission locked in correctly and I escaped, squirming out from underneath him and standing. Both of us now completely exhausted, we stood.
We circled eachother, glaring into the eyes of the other. His shorts were now stained red in certain parts by both mine and his own blood. His elbows and gloved hands were similar. The red liquid that was all too familiar now streamed from his broken nose, causing little circles on the mat below us.
I bet if you looked at me, I wasn't much different. I was going to guess I had at least three cuts; the one on my forehead, and then another two elsewhere. I couldn't exactly pinpoint the source of the blood that was hindering my vision, but as the bell rung, signaling the end of the second round, I knew I would find out.
I went over to my corner and sat in the stool provided to me by my coach, leaning against the chain link of the cage behind me. I breathed hard as the medical team cleared the blood from my eyes and face, and bean sealing up the cuts. I was correct with my assumption; there were two new cuts adorning my face. One was on my left cheekbone, and the other was on my left eyebrow. The medical staff was joined by Tolvorn and Eduard.
"When the hell did you get here, Ed?" I asked as he handed me an opened bottle of water.
"That doesn't matter. Just listen up; you can't let him get on top of you like that. Remember your training; it's all in the hips when you're on the ground. If he gets and advantage on you, just roll over the way I told you to. Get into an advantage position on top of Braginski and submit him. Use that damaged side against him; once you have an armbar or something, put pressure on that side, hit it if you can. That'll loosen him up enough to where you can get it locked in."
I took a drink of my water then sighed, standing. I then handed the bottle of water to Eduard.
"Last round, Mathias. Make it count." Tolvorn said as they, along with the medical staff, exited the ring.
Soon, yet again, I found myself in the cage with only the ref and Braginski. The blood stains on the mat were numerous, and a large amount was collected in the area Ivan had dominated me on the ground. The Russian boxer and I were both exhausted, chests heaving, bodies sore from the abundance of lactic acid in our muscles.
This was the final round. I had won the first round, Ivan had won the second. This was do or die; it was win or lose here.
When the bell rung, Ivan and I circled eachother for what seemed like the thousandth time. His guard was low, as was mine. We were too exhausted to keep our hands up. Sweat dripped down our bodies, mixing with the stains of blood on our shorts, and joining the small droplets of blood on the mat below our feet.
Everything seemed to go in slow motion as I used what strength I had left in my legs to launch myself forward. I landed a direct hit with what was known as a superman punch, scoring with my right fist connecting to the face of my opponent. Ivan stumbled backwards and I continued to pursue him as the crowd erupted into a thunderous cheer.
I placed a heavy kick to his right side, then, as he curled up slightly in recoil from the strike, I hit him as hard as I could with a left hook.
"Heartless" Braginski fell on his back limply, out cold. The ref jumped in and stopped the fight and the bell was rung. I grinned and threw one fist in the air, shouting in Danish.
Media, coaches, and medical staff hurried in and I hugged Tolvorn and Eduard as they approached me.
"Now that, Mathias, was one hell of a fight." Tolvorn said, patting the matted mess of hair upon my head.
"Yeah, really… I can't hardly breathe." I replied, laughing a bit as I removed my mouth guard. Eduard patted my back.
"It would have been worse if you hadn't done all that cardio training, huh?" He commented.
"No kidding…" I muttered as I went to the middle of the ring where the ref was waiting, along with the announcer. Ivan was still unconscious on the mat.
"And now," Brian O'Keeffe began. "Announcing the winner by knockout at twenty-three seconds into the third round… "The Rookie" Mathias Køhler!" The ref raised my arm in the air and I grinned.
Once the ref released my arm I took a moment to pose for the cameras before finally exiting the cage. The crowd that could reach me patted my back and arms as I headed to the locker room, where the next fighter was getting ready. It was Matt.
"Hey there, Mathias. I saw that win; you did a good job. I have to admit, I was rooting for you despite the fact that Ivan is my boyfriend." He told me. I laughed a bit and put a gloved hand on his shoulder.
"Thanks a lot, man… I'm fucking exhausted… I'm going to hang around to watch your fight though. I hope you win. I couldn't strike up anything with Lodovico; that bastard is more stubborn than Antonov…"
"Don't worry about it, Mathias. I've trained hard, and I'm set on winning this." He replied.
"That's the spirit… I'm going to take a shower now… Fuck, your boyfriend exhausted me more than anyone ever has… I'll be lucky to walk back out to the seats to watch you fight."
Matthew laughed as he shed his shirt and tossed it in his locker. "That'll happen to you, Mathias. Don't slip and fall in that shower. You may not have the strength to get up."
"Fuck you…" I joked as I walked to the showers.
Matt soon exited to go to the octagon, and I was able to get dressed and freshened up a bit before I was to go out and sit next to Tino to watch the rest of the WCFL event.
Tolvorn entered the locker room as I pulled on a plain black t-shirt.
"You, Mr. Køhler, are one hell of a fighter. 4-0? You have an amazing foothold in the league now; did you hear the fans cheering for you when you won?" He asked.
"How couldn't I have heard them?" I replied, chuckling a bit. I turned to him and gave the shorter man a tight hug.
"Thanks for the coaching, Tolvorn." I said. He patted my back.
"It's what I do. Now let's get you to that post-fight conference, and then out to watch the rest of the event. I have to head home after the conference, so after it, you're on your own. Be careful." He responded as I let go of him.
"Let's go." I agreed, slipping on my tennis shoes and walking out with the Icelandic man.
We made it to the conference and went through it quickly; I soon found myself heading back out to the seats of the stadium. Once I located Tino, sitting in the front row by the blue corner's side of the ring, I walked over.
I sat in the empty chair next to him with a smile on my face.
"Ah, Mathias. That was amazing." He said, giving me a hug, and to my surprise, a peck on the cheek. I knew it was just a friendly one though.
"Thanks Tino… I am so exhausted, you have no idea." I replied, my eyes fixated on the two fighters who were now brawling inside the cage.
"I'm sure I don't… I probably couldn't last even a single round with the amount of work you guys did in the cage there. I may be fit, but I'm nowhere near as fit as you guys."
"All it takes is a little bit of training."
"A little bit? Oh please, you guys train practically nonstop. I hardly ever see Alexianos. The most I see of him is when he comes home at night and he's completely exhausted. I've had resort to carrying him to bed quite a bit since he usually passes out on the first piece of furniture he sits on."
I laughed a bit. "He has reason to train that hard; he's 39-0 for God's sake. He's got to be one of the most fit men out there."
"I would know; I'm his husband."
"Yeah… Say, what's happened so far in this fight that I've missed?"
"Not too much… A lot of failed takedowns and missed hits."
I watched as Matt and Nikodemos circled eachother in the ring. A few strikes were thrown, but nothing was really effective. Nikodemos went for a takedown, but Matt sprawled and denied him the chance to go to the ground before standing and backing away a bit.
The bell to end the round was rung not long after and the two fighters returned to their corners.
"There's not much going on here…" I commented.
"I've seen worse." Tino responded.
"Is that so?"
"Last year Alexander Johansson and his brother Joachim had to fight each other… They didn't really do anything and the fight was ruled a no-contest."
"Well… They're brothers. That's different. This is Matt's do-or-die fight."
"What do you mean?"
"If Matt doesn't win this fight, his contract with the WCFL won't be renewed and he'll be booted off the official roster."
"Well damn… I hope he wins then. He's such a good guy; he deserves to be in the WCFL."
"I know. Lodovico told me that it was just a matter of pleasing the fans. If Matt doesn't put on a good show and just keeps losing, there's no use in keeping him. Told me it's all business. I'm just thinking he's stereotyping that Matt should be as good as Alfred or something along those lines, since they're step-brothers. You know?"
"Yeah… But in the end this all boils down to business. You can't blame Lodovico for running it."
"I guess…"
"Looks like they're starting up again."
I regarded the fight in the octagon as the bell to start the second round began. I watched as Matt slid forward with a head kick and nailed Nikodemos, and didn't pause to keep going forward with numerous punches. Something had definitely clicked in the Canadian man's head, and he was now on the attack.
I craned my neck to witness as Nikodemos took Matthew down, working to lock in a guillotine choke.
"Shit… come on, Matt…" I muttered.
After a few moments, I realized the referee jumping in and separating the two fighters. Nikodemos jumped up from the ground, grinning and shouting, pounding his chest.
"Damn it; Matt lost!" I cursed. I watched as medical staff hurried in to check on Matt who slowly got to his feet, shaking his head.
"And now, announcing the winner by way of a Guillotine choke at one minute two seconds into the second round, Nikodemos Antonov!" Brian O'Keeffe announced. Once Nikodemos had made his exit, Matthew was given time to speak to the fans. He was announcing his retirement from the WCFL due to his contract expiring.
"Ladies and gentlemen…" The Canadian started. "There's nowhere I'd rather be than here in the cage fighting… But this was my do-or-die fight… My contract, with that loss, is over… I'm sad to say that I must retire from the World-Class Fighting League with a record of 4-4… I'm glad to have spent a portion of my life here with everyone. Thank you all."
The crowd cheered for the departing Canadian, who raised a gloved fist in the air as he exited the octagon one final time.
"I'm going to go talk to him. Be right back." I told Tino, standing from my seat and heading to the locker room to catch up with Matthew.
I came up beside him as he entered the locker room.
"Hey Matt. It sucks to see that you have to retire…" I said.
"It's alright. I lost on purpose, you know."
"You did what?"
"Face it, Mathias. I'm just not cut out for this kind of career… I'm so tired of training for weeks on end, only to get my ass kicked. I want to go back to Canada; move back to Montreal, you know? Not be stuck in my step-brother's shadow all the time."
"But what're you going to do? I mean…"
"I'm fairly educated. A year or two more in college and I'll be set with a good career; something I can handle better than fighting. And I won't have any trouble paying for anything; I've saved up nearly all the money I've earned here with the WCFL."
I sighed. "Well, at least keep in touch with me if you go back to Canada, alright?"
"I'll be sure to. Now head back out and watch the event. I'm going to go home and rest… If you go to the café tomorrow morning, I'll be there. It'll be my last time there, probably."
"Alright. I'll see you tomorrow then. Give me a hug, you Canadian bastard." I said. He chuckled a bit and we hugged. It was actually kind of heartbreaking to have seen Matt's final fight in the WCFL, and to have learned that he lost of purpose.
I exited the locker room once we let go of eachother, returning to Tino. I sat down in my seat with a heavy sigh.
"He alright?" Tino asked.
"Yeah. He's fine." I replied. "Say's that he's going to move back to Canada. Tomorrow morning he's going to be at the café one last time before he heads up."
"I'll be sure to make him something special then before he goes. He's such a great guy, you know?"
"Yeah, I know."