Been awhile, eh?


Chapter 12. Warrior's Code

Forgive us Father, for we are about to sin

Bestow upon us your grace

Absolve our wrath

"You're angry, Jack, I can see it in your eyes. You're angry because you know you'll never beat me. But more importantly, you're angry because our fight proved that you are nothing more than a failure, just like I've always known."

Diminish our greed

"This title is where it belongs. And it's not a joke when I tell you, that you, Jack Overland or God himself will never snatch it out of my cold, dead hands."

"You didn't beat me, Hans, you never did and you never will. And I will make sure that you will not be the one walking out of the arena with the title around your waist.

Release our envy

"The welterweight division is my Rome, I am its Nero, and I get every right to fiddle while everyone else in it burns."

"This is my cage. I own it. And I've proven it time and time again. And at Bad Blood, say goodbye to your handsome face, say goodbye to your stupid little sideburns, and say goodbye to that precious title."

Vindicate our pride

"I'm superior in every way, I beat you once, and I have no problem on doing it again, and when the fight is over, you will come out to the world and say that I am better than you. If you don't, you're a liar, and if you do, you're a loser. Either way, I win.

"Trust me when I tell you this, the moment you step foot inside the octagon, I will break your face, I will smash your ego, I will repaint the canvas with your blood, and I will be standing tall as the new Welterweight Champion."

As the trailer-like video package playing in the huge titantron for the upcoming main event of UFC: Bad Blood ended with the image of the champion raising his title high in the air, the sold-out crowd erupted in boisterous applause and between the crowd and the song Step Up by Drowning Pool suddenly blasting from the speakers, Jack could barely hear his own thoughts as he stood on the far end of the stage inside the MGM Arena before the largest crowd (for a weigh-in session that is) he'd ever seen.

Broken
Yeah, you've been living on the edge of a broken dream
Nothing
Yeah, that's the only thing you'll ever take away from me

When the announcer called out his name to signal him to step onto the scales, Jack wasted no time and took his shirt off, much to the delight of the squealing ringcard girls behind him, before making his way to the weighing machine. As he took a moment to assess the atmosphere inside the building, Jack felt as if he'd never left the game, like the seven months between this and his last bout never existed. But he wasn't complaining; on the contrary, after being away from the sport for quite some time (and after all the debacle he went through outside of it), he missed everything he loved about it, from the pre-fight build-up to the post-fight aftermath. He missed the roar of the fans whenever he puts someone to sleep or chokes someone until they tap. He missed the scattered jeers from supporters of the hometown heroes he's fought and beaten over the years. He missed Agdar and Eugene shouting orders at him on how to beat the hell out of the other guy inside the cage.

What Jack missed the most, however, was the fighting itself. The sound of his feet tapping lightly against the canvas as he circles around his opponent. The violent smack of flesh against flesh as he dishes out or takes an offensive strike, and the pain that comes seconds later. The sight of the canvas painted in his or his opponent's blood after everything is said and done. It is a testament to both his skill and showmanship as a fighter that whenever he enters the cage, there will always be blood.

What made combat sports, and fighting in general, so unique and special to Jack was it didn't matter who was born into wealth or not. Popularity, status, looks, they were all irrelevant. And it doesn't just decide who gets the win, the money, or the title because if you take all of those away and put the two combatants in a place where there are no crowd, no cameras and no Herb Dean, the answer is that the victor would have killed the loser.

Fighters like him don't make more baskets when they throw a punch, they don't make more goals when they attempt a kick, and they don't earn more rings or trophies when their hands are raised up high in the air when they are announced the winner.

They win a literal game of life and death that was stopped before it even got there.

Fighting strips everything they are and everything they have, but their humanity. It is hardwired into their understanding of what it means to be a human.

And Jack salutes himself and his fellow fighters for understanding that better than anyone.

"170 for Mr. Overland!" the sudden announcement of his weight shook Jack out of his 'warrior's palace' and before he knew it, Hans Westergaard, the reigning champion, his rival, and the guy he was going to beat the shit out of one night from now made his way to the stage and proceeded to do everything he did just a few minutes prior.

He watched, practically murdered the man with his eyes as he hopped onto the scales. It might sound a bit hypocritical to the fans after all he said in that promo, but for Jack, it didn't matter if there was a title on the line in a fight, who fucking cares if he had it, anyway? That belt is no different to him than the one he had in his closet that holds his jeans up. But this man robbed him of his well-earned victory, and even though it doesn't take a rocket scientist to say that Jack won their first encounter by a large margin, he couldn't shake the fact that Hans had once 'defeated' him in a fight.

And to him, that was more than enough of a reason to explain the hatred he felt for his opponent and to warrant a rematch.

When the time came for the obligatory face-off after the weigh-ins, Jack got involved in the somewhat traditional wild scuffle with Hans.

And it was partly, well, entirely his fault.

They were standing face-to-face on their fighting stances when Jack's clenched fist somehow made the slightest contact with Hans' shoulder before lightly pushing him back, the champion retaliated by shoving him full-force with both hands, much to the delight of the fans in attendance. They cheered as the officials scrambled to seperate the two combatants and tried to get the situation under control, then went completely wild when Hans flipped him off with double fingers before doing the DX crotch chop sign.

Jack should have been offended by the gesture. He probably should have been angry too. He should have ran into him and choked him unconscious, then rain punches on his face until it was as red as his hair.

But that would only prove that he was actually falling for his McGregor-like mind games. Which he wasn't. Besides, after all the fiasco Valentina Shevchenko went through after UFC 213, he wasn't particularly fond of the thought of this fight, which was arguably the biggest of his career, getting canceled a day before it even happened because he acted like a whiny kid who lost his toy during the weigh-ins.

As he was escorted out of the stage, the song playing overhead reached its bridge with Jason 'Gong' Jones singing the lyrics, 'And now you've crossed the line. You must be out your mind...', and Jack smirked. The song really described their rivalry as a whole.


"Ooh, that was a lot of hostility there," Eugene laughed as he sat beside him on the bench inside the locker room and almost spilled a spoonful of strawberry sundae all over himself. They were watching the replay of what had transpired a few hours prior in the weigh-ins and the monitor was now showing the most interesting part of it. "Gotta admit, he had me dying when he did the DX sign."

"Well, let's see if he'll still be doing that after I break his face tomorrow," Jack shrugged. "Remember Werdum's troll face?"

"What about it?"

"As far as I know, he never did that again after Miocic KO'ed him."

The sound of a guitar riff resembling a revving engine followed by the full-of-life drum beats and another series of guitar riffs from the song Retaliation by CFO$ suddenly blasted from his phone sitting at a nearby table, and Jack didn't have to guess who was attempting to phone him at the moment for he already knew who it was.

The theme song for the Ed Sheeran's lunatic cousin continued to play for what seemed like an age and Jack willed himself to be irritated because oh fine, his coach had pretty much disappeared for the entire fight week but at least he hadn't forgotten to spare him at least one phone call before the fight, when he should know that every fighter needs someone to guide them when they step foot in that fucking cage.

Coaches loved fighting as much as a fighter did, sometimes even more so, hell just ask Norman Stoney. That and pretty much anything that had to do with punches, kicks, takedowns, joint locks and chokeholds.

Which was why it was very surprising when all those media obligations, press cons and open trainings happened with no Agdar Winterhaven accompanying him.

And Jack spent much of the last two days grumbling to himself whenever another Larial Shelwani put a microphone in front of his lips, trying to get him to answer the same bullshit questions that pretty much every fight journalist spews out of their mouths.

"Fuck it," he muttered and with speed bestowed upon him by TRTitor's Cheez-its, Jack got up and snatched his phone before sliding his thumb through the screen. "Coach, where are you?" he asked, trying his hardest to not be annoyed at the thought of Agdar bailing on him on the biggest fight of his life. "In case you haven't noticed, my fight's less than twenty-four hours away."

"Listen, Jack, I," his voice trailed off, and Jack thought he heard him sigh. It sounded distant, almost as if Agdar was deliberately holding the speaker away from his mouth, but he couldn't be sure. "I can't go there."

"What? Why?"

"I-I just can't. And I assure you, Jack, it has nothing to do with you," said Agdar. "Now I don't want to sound selfish, but I'm talking about me now, I just really need to spend a little time for myself and my family."

"That doesn't make any goddamn sense!" Jack exclaimed, not caring if he sounded a bit like an ass. "Six weeks ago, you were so keen on this fight happening, and now you'll just walk away one day-"

"Jack, you don't need me there," Agdar interrupted him firmly. "As a matter of fact, you never really did. You're a naturally talented fighter. I was just there to offer you some moral support."

"Come on, coach..." he let out a long, profound sigh.

"Jack, my daughter is here, and I can't lose her again."

So that was what this was all about. She's back. And Jack wasn't stupid to not know which daughter Agdar was referring to. As much as he hates to admit it, he'd missed her too, and for the briefest moment, his heart swelled with affection and excitement, he even contemplated on asking Agdar if he could talk to her for a short while, but then he remembered the last time the two of them shared a conversation. She probably wouldn't be thrilled to hear from him and besides, he has a scheduled date with someone else in the octagon tomorrow. He couldn't let her cloud his thoughts.

Not in the moment at least.

"I gave you the best years of my life, Jack. Now I need to give my girls a bit of my time." Agdar said after a long while, and Jack thought he heard him sniff and whisper the words, 'before it's too late,' though his ear could be fooling him. "If you need someone to be at your corner, talk to Eugene, if he's with you, that is."

"Okay," Jack sighed and looked at the man in question sitting on the bench, still busy with his beloved cup of strawberry sundae.

"I'll be watching your fight the whole time, so don't screw up or I'll see."

This time, Jack managed to smile a little. "Don't worry about me."

"And protect yourself at all times."

Though he knew Agdar was just concerned for his well-being, Jack couldn't help but let out a chuckle. Getting hurt in the octagon has never been an issue for him, if nothing else, his experience with a certain platinum blonde woman, who only happened to be the man's daughter, ironically enough, proved that the only place he really gets hurt is out there.

"I'll be fine, coach. You take care."

"Okay," Agdar said before hanging up and putting his phone on the table.

"What'd the man say?" Eugene suddenly queried.

"He said he can't go," answered Jack. "Something to do with his daughter."

"You mean the one you were involved with?" his friend smirked and when Jack, admittedly not in the mood for any jest, raised an eyebrow, he added. "Relax, I was just trying to lighten up the mood. So this means I'll be the one at your corner, right?"

His response came in the form of a small murmur of 'yes.'

"Alright, then," Eugene said, standing from the bench and stretching his muscles, then in worst possible Irish accent ever, he added, "Captain Fookin New Japan is at your service."

Jack rolled his eyes, but nonetheless decided to play along. "Get the fook outta here."

The two of them shared a few good chuckles and banter before both men's gazes fell to the floor as the atmosphere inside the room transitioned from being light-hearted to somber.

"Can I offer you a piece of advice?" Eugene asked in a very subdued tone after a while.

"Fire away."

"Finish him," his friend impressed him by saying those words without sounding like the announcer from Mortal Kombat, and if he wasn't so tired from all of the crap the media had put him through the past couple of days, he'd have laughed, but that wasn't the case at the moment. "Knockout, submission, I don't care how or when you do it. Just finish him, otherwise those buffoons are gonna hit you with another Montreal Screwjob."

"Gene, I promise I won't leave it to their hands this time."

"I don't believe you, Jack," Eugene shook his head and put a hand on his shoulder. "Can you do this?"

"Yeah," Jack whispered.

"Look at me," his friend snapped and punched him lightly in the arm, clearly not satisfied with his answer before giving him a chellenging look. "I wanna hear you say it."

"I can do this," he said with as much conviction as he could muster.

"Then, let's go do this."

Jack frowned. "You do realise that the fight's not happening until tomorrow, right?"

"Way to fucking ruin the mood there, Jack," Eugene grumbled. "I was trying to be motivational."


AN: Captain Fookin New Japan...

Kill me.

Shout out to the band ONLAP and their song 'Still Alive', if it weren't for them, I never would have found the inspiration to write this chapter. You can thank that song by giving it a listen.

Review reply for SuxToBeMee: Lawler/MacDonald 2 (MMA), Gatti/Ward 1 (Boxing), Benoit/HHH/HBK at WMXX (Wrestling).

Thanks for reading.

PS: I hope I didn't upset any Canadian readers with the Montreal Screwjob reference.