Hit Hard
Chapter 0.5: Plant the Seed
Sweat soaked her fur, sinking into her very being. Her heart pumped, sending a shock wave of blood through her body along with a little touch of adrenaline to cap it off with. Her fur stood up on their ends alongside her eyes flaring open every once in awhile, even as she sat on the stool in her corner. The crowd cheered and jeered, cameras flashed and the spotlights remained on the ring.
Sitting there, she felt her mouthpiece be removed by a calloused hand, and in stepped her trainer. A portly stallion with a receding hairline and a thick moustache. He had a flashy jacket on, with her name written on the back in diamonds and reflective studs. He chopped the air passionately as he crouched in front of her, his eyes wild with only a trainer's type of wild.
"Babs- Babs, listen!" He roared over the crowd. "You aren't takin' the inside! She's got longer arms than you! You gotta take the inside 'n' bust her wide open! The ropes ain't your friend, but you sure as Tartarus're gonna make those ropes her friend!"
As he demonstrated with his hands in a faux fight, a stallion ran a cold press over her welting cheek, while sweet, sweet water gushed into her mouth. She swallowed, breathing heavily through her nose. Babs nodded as he neared the end of his instruction, cutting in; "You'se right, Hook. You'se right."
"Damn straight I am! Ya got eighteen minutes left, kid. Make'em count."
The mouthpiece found itself back in her mouth as she stared at Hook's eyes, reading his silent lesson. Knock her ass out.
The bell rung. The cry of the ring announcer of "Round nine!" thundered over the lively crowd. Tired, Babs found herself sitting up with a bit of numbness in her legs. Hook took a step to get off the ring, hesitating to look back at her. He grabbed her shoulder, getting her attention. "Watch that uppercut when ya duck! You've been gettin' hit by it too much!"
She nodded, looking back as he stepped under the ropes and out of the ring. The crowd seemed to quiet a bit, but still kept its relentless personality as she smacked her gloves together, sending a layer of sweat to go flying off of them. Her head burned with the stings of the previous punches afflicted to her earlier, but she was rearing to go for a ninth round. Her motor never stopped. She was Babs Seed, the Motor of Manehattan!
Ducking, she hunched over in her unorthodox guard position. Hunched back, pulled arms to her chest, and her head low and alert. Her opponent- challenger of Babs' belt -was a taller built mare of this weight division. Whereas she was stocky and short, and had power when she threw and toughness when she couldn't, this mare had range and the ability to out-maneuver her lesser reach. It had shaped up to be a tough fight for both mares.
So, she marched forwards. Her taut muscles flexing as she ducked low, left, right, and even upright. Her head moved unceremoniously, offering the taller mare, Quick Hit, no real way to conventionally time her off-beat rhythm as a fighter. Except she did. About three rounds ago.
Quick seemed to have a pep in her step, although she was heaving with a bruised jaw and a swollen left eye. She favored hopping on her left leg rather than her right, whereas her right leg was the lead leg until about four rounds ago when Babs hit her in the sweet spot on the hip.
Suddenly, Quick threw a jab out. A straight one, no warning. Immediately, Babs ducked down and felt the glove whiff her head. A rustle of air and her eye caught the approach of a fast-swinging uppercut from the other arm. Instinctively, she brought her arms up in a hastened cross guard to deflect the incoming strike. The jab pulled back, leaving her a window of opportunity to strike.
She reared her right fist back, squaring her legs. Suddenly, she sprang forward, swinging her right fist forward in a powerful hook to strike Quick's jaw. Except there was nothing to contact. Babs exhaled, crashing forward as she turned her back to Quick, giving her a perfect opportunity to strike back where it hurt.
Babs turned her head, not being able to react to the tight hook that knocked her back and rendered her ears to dull. Babs almost forgot she was fighting for a second. She felt her legs stumble back, and could only raise her arms in an attempt to keep some sort of defense up. Her arms swung to and fro from the impact of the harsh punishment, but she quickly planted her rear leg back and stabilized herself luckily. Immediately, the body of Quick did not walk away or remain still. It closed in on her, and fast.
She hunched her back, feeling the whooping air of a wild hook miss above, and cocked her head right, feeling another glove scrape her cheek. Huffing, she brought her left arm in for a tight punch to Quick's ribs, prompting the feeling of Quick's head to hit Babs' shoulder in pain. Knowing Quick was doubled over, only for a moment, Babs continued punching tightly into Quick's ribs and hips. The mare already raised her guard to protect her body, as her abs and hips screamed in tenderness.
Suddenly, Quick began to pace backwards. The crowd seemed to regain focus in Babs' ears as they cheered for the intense action. Emboldened, she straightened her back to pop up for a shot at Quick's head, who reared her head back just before Babs' shot to graze her snout. Again, Babs hunched over and drove her head into Quick's chest, charging her into the ropes all the way across the ring.
"HIT THE HEAD!" Hook roared over the crowd, instructing Babs. She took the advice, and she took it to damn heart. She rolled her head on Quick's chest, sending a few thundering hooks into Quick's head. She missed on the first one, but nailed her assumed-to-be jaw on the second one, sending Quick's body backwards into the ropes even more.
Immediately, Babs retracted her head from Quick's body, but still remained in her hunched pose. She straightened ever so slightly, punching very lightly at Quick's desperate guard on her head. She continued this steady, light rhythm before she sent a heavy, tight-winded hook into Quick's body again. Again, Quick doubled over and lowered her guard, giving Babs just enough time to send a straight jab into her opponent's head. Quick's head was sent back, an explosion of sweat wringing from her hair and shoulders. She crashed into the ropes again, sending desperate punches into Babs.
The punches struck their mark, but seemed to have no effect. Every hit Quick dished to Babs, Babs returned and then some. She'd hit Babs' face, and Babs would strike her head and body at least four times in return. "You ain't nothin'," Quick heaved as she retreated into a high guard. Babs replied by striking her body again. "This nothin' is kickin' you'se ass!" Babs growled. Immediately, the two gloves pushed Babs' shoulders, sending her backwards a few paces.
Undeterred, she smacked her gloves again to charge straight back in. "WATCH THE UPPERCUT!" Hook shouted.
Quick feigned a hook. Babs instinctively ducked, but her eyes widened as she saw the prophesized uppercut to hit her square in the face. She retreated backwards, bobbing and weaving in autopilot as Quick released a flurry of exhausted, but disciplined shots towards Babs' retreating form. Arms, body, head, anything that Quick saw was to be exploited. The crowd's volume seemed to pick up in excitement as Babs' legs desperately craved to give out. She refused.
"STAY ALIVE! STAY ALIVE!" Hook's screams were heard. Babs maintained a sporadic switching of back-and-forth shifts between the cross guard when she ducked and a loose high guard when she bobbed up. Most of the shots were deflecting, but the harsh punishment her head was taking was starting to hit her bad. She couldn't command her legs to plant as hard as she wanted to, but nonetheless continued bobbing and weaving underneath the assault.
Desperately she threw her signature left hook out, catching just enough of a glimpse to see Quick dodge it with world class head movement. Babs' body thundered forward from the momentum, her legs stumbling as if she was drunk. It was clear to everyone watching that she was hurt, and hurt bad. A dull impact of a jab hitting the side of Babs' head was ignored as she stumbled forwards, her rear leg swinging around tiredly before managing to just barely plant to keep her upright.
Her vision blurry, and head ringing a pitch she couldn't imagine she'd ever hear, Babs continued her miraculous survival. She had never taken such a dominating battering before, none of the other fights compared to this. She had to escape, do something, get away to recover-
Ding!
Round nine was over. The next round, ten, was coming soon.
Quick immediately retreated off of Babs' form, walking confidently (albeit a small limp) in her step as Babs stood straight, unbalanced. She took a glance over to her corner to see Hook quickly grab her and escort her to the stool that was waiting for her tired, exhausted form.
The mouthpiece was took out again, and she took the liberty to spit out a wad of saliva as she sat down. The usual cold press and water routine occurred while a wet rag ran itself across her face. Hook stood in front of her, shaking his head angrily. "You're lettin' that broad beat ya at your own game, Babs! Ya let tha uppercut knock your ass out of it! You're blowin' in, Babs! You are blowin' it!"
"I know- I- I know!" Babs stuttered, breathing heavily.
"Then why aren't ya watchin' out for this broad's uppercut? You ain't that dumb, and you sure as hell ain't undefeated fa no reason! The broad hit ya good in her type o' boxin' 'n' then took ta beatin' you senseless with your type 'o' boxin' 'cause you're too busy askin' for tha check from tha waiter!"
"I just- One good hit, Hook. Thhhh- that's all I gotta have 'n' need. Dat's it."
Hook stared at her, as the bell rung to signal the starting of round ten. "Take the wings off this butterfly, Babs." He placed the mouthpiece into her mouth and stepped out of the ring, alongside his crew.
Babs stood up, feeling the stool leave where it once was. She was still dazed, that much she could tell, but as long as she kept hopping her legs and staying low, she could knock Quick Hit out.
"Round ten!" The announcer cried.
Babs stepped forward as Quick strolled towards her. Quick wiped her bloody lip with a glove as she spoke, belittling Babs. "Tenth round, shorty. A wise mare once said, 'On this fifth of May, the Motor loses its gas on this highway! Ground and pound like an engine, it'll bob and weave until loses gasoline! Round ten is the end for this Manehattanite's trend.'"
"Nopony ever said you'se a wise mare. Or a smart one," Babs countered, raising her guard.
"They did say I was gonna beat ya, shorty. Come on, now. Hit me!" Quick replied, throwing a jab out tauntingly at her.
Babs smacked the offending glove away, returning a tight winded hook into the stomach of Quick Hit. Quick took the hit in stride, having thrown a cross punch right into Babs' head, sending it whipping back with a layer of sweat. Babs ducked, crashing her head into Quick's chest once again. The two thundered across the ring, until Quick was forced onto the ropes.
It seemed they were picking up where the beginning of last round started, with Babs chugging punches into the body before sending unexpected, strong punches into Quick's head.
It seemed that the established domination of Babs was solidified until Quick pushed Babs off and struck her with a dazing lead hook into her head, sending her pacing backwards a step or two. That step or two was all Quick needed, who threw punch after punch into the now retreating form of Babs.
"Stick 'em!" Quick's trainer roared. "She's gonna come back at you! Do not stand and fight!"
Quick's legs, uncharacteristically, did not move.
Babs' head popped, twisted and snapped around with each punch the taller mare dished out with a vengeance. She had to do something, at least wait for her arm to throw that stupid uppercut so she could end it! She ducked, narrowly avoiding a potential knockout punch before her heart stopped in anticipation. In the midst of sweat, moving bodies and the flashing of cameras she spotted the fated uppercut charging up at her face with a head of steam. She weaved her head left, the glove soaring past her head with a whipping of wind, causing Quick to lose balance as she had put everything she had into that punch.
Babs planted her feet, and squared her hips as she brought her left arm whipping around at breakneck speeds right into Quick's head. A boom, equivalent to a shotgun blast had filled the room as the crowd reacted accordingly. Quick fell to the canvas as the crowd got even louder.
Babs walked towards her corner, to a cheering Hook and others. As she had thought, the ref had waved the fight over as he assessed the knocked out form of Quick Hit. Babs' team stormed the ring to congratulate Babs, who raised her gloves up in victory and smiled a triumphant grin.
"Queen o' da world, Babs! You won!" Hook cried, hugging his tired disciple.
If only her world didn't come crashing down around her days later.