Diamond Tiara’s hands were already wrapped and taped in the familiar pattern. Her calloused knuckles would still ache after the fight but that thought was fleeting and devoid of concern for her, it was something you got used to after years of hitting the bags, pads, and sparring partners during training. It wasn’t her hands that troubled her now but what they held: the strawweight division championship belt.
The face of the black leather belt was gold plated and carefully adorned with inscriptions and decorative patterns surrounding the bright face. Befitting the award of a skilled mixed martial artist, the belt gleamed beneath the locker room lights of the Canterlot Sporting Arena. Surrounding the large font CHAMPION below the center plate were a series of smaller plaques containing the names of all the previous title holders back to the dawn of the Canterlot Fighting Championship. A short list of only six others, but one of significance to the martial artists pushing to legitimize the sport from the naysayers who deemed it a bloodthirsty, gladiatorial pit of base, ignorant people for low brow worshippers of violence.
Her name was the most recent addition but it haunted her instead of bringing satisfaction. Did her name belong alongside the others? Had she earned that right? Or was she demeaning the sport she loved?
The questions burned inside her mind like drops of acid, slowly eating deeper at her conscience, sizzling away at the accomplishments of the last five years she had spent in the CFC. As she reflected upon her victories, they all seemed false. How long, she wondered, had she been living a lie? She could not tell and the victories frayed in her mind, melting to the vitriolic questions.
She was not a champion; she was a fraud.
Her image flashed in the polished gold of the title belt and she felt tears welling from the endless spring of sorrow her father had opened within her. She stared into the distorted reflection of her own azure eyes and grimaced. Years of dedication, diligence, and hard, hard work… were they all for naught?
The challenger’s music echoed into the small locker room from the entrance tunnel outside. Farnese Hera, the former champion, was making her walk to the cage. Diamond sighed, not wanting to face the woman from which she had taken the belt.
“You look awful, Diamond. Are you sick? We can put this thing off if you aren’t well,” said Flicker Jab. The middle aged man kneeled before Diamond and took her hands, checking the tape by touch while looking deep into the regretful icy pools of her eyes. She had known him for the last 15 years. Ever since she had begged her father to let her take MMA lessons. She had bloomed under Flicker Jab’s tutelage and he had been with her the whole time. It pained her to look at him now.
“I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with.”
“Diamond… you’re not in the right frame of mind. There’s no shame in taking another few weeks…” Flicker reasoned, his steel gray eyes searched Diamond worryingly.
Another man in his mid thirties moved to observe the interaction of the coach and his pupil. The salt and pepper haired man wore an olive green jacket, identifying him as one of the commissioners of the Canterlot Athletics Commission. He was silent but observant like a gargoyle statue.
“It won’t matter.” Diamond looked away, holding the belt out to the Canterlot Commissioner who watched intently for rule violations or infractions. The commissioner took the belt, acting as intermediate for the bearer of the belt.
Dempsey Roll, Diamond’s friend and training partner, took a pair of open finger gloves resting on the bench beside her and handed them to Flicker Jab. “Come on, Ti. Don’t let the rumors psych you out. We believe in you.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t, Demp,” Diamond sighed and let her head fall.
The older man took the gloves and shook his head lightly as he helped Diamond don the 4 ounce gloves that served to protect the bones in her hand more than her opponent’s body.
“Where’s your heart? You’re going to let Hera’s mind games beat you before the fight even starts?” Flicker moved aside as the commissioner checked the gloves, feeling for tampering. The commissioner nodded his approval and Flicker Jab wrapped blue tape around the wrists of the gloves to which the commissioner signed his initials with a black sharpie to prove he had inspected them. The acrid odor lingered and filled Diamond’s nostrils. “This isn’t like you, Diamond. What’s going on upstairs?”
Diamond stood and pumped a fist into the palm of the other hand, dismissing the question obstinately, before squeezing her hands rhythmically back and forth, checking the fit of the gloves. Eyes refusing to meet her trainer’s, she watched the floor, head down, as her entrance music began. Her lavender hair was cornrowed tightly over her head and she briefly felt for loose strands that might get in the way before stepping out of the locker room and into the tunnel. Flicker was right, her heart wasn’t in the fight. How could it be?
Her music flowed into the tunnel, swallowing her like a flood as she walked towards the entrance to the arena. A fast-paced song by the Suicidal Foals, her favorite band, that she felt echoed her rebellious spirit blared through the speakers of the arena and bounced off the walls of the tunnel. Normally, she would be inspired, but this time it just reminded her of how her father controlled her. Even when she proved him wrong, he found a way to ruin her accomplishments.
She could feel her trainer’s hard grip on her shoulder and a small troupe of commissioners and security flanked her on all sides but the front as the flickering lights from the arena floor came closer and closer.
The crowd, large for a Canterlot regional fight, instantly reacted as she broke into the arena. A mixture of cheers and boos assaulted her sensitive ears even over the raucous music of the Foals. It was nearly impossible to not see the unhappy faces, the downturned thumbs, and even the expletives hurled her way despite there being several cheering, clapping, and reaching for a fist bump. She wasn’t lying to just herself and her trainer: she was lying to her fans.
She bounced from foot to foot, testing the comfort of the black athletic clothes squeezing against her hips, legs, and chest. The tank top matched the black of the shorts except the latter bore her name in gold, befitting the current champion. They were slick against her body, fitted, and contoured comfortably without riding or chafing.
Continuing to hop, Diamond made her way toward the octagonal cage. She cast glacial eyes into the center where Farnese Hera stood, a scowl on her lips and anger flashing like warning lights. Her eyes were lasers burning into Diamond’s chest, frying her beating heart.
Hera was a blood hungry lioness, stalking the cage furiously. Her body language was different from their first match. Hera had been the champion and sought to defend what was hers while eagerly awaiting the challenge that Diamond Tiara brought. Her eyes were hungry but full of respect for Diamond.
Now they were filled to the brim with red hate and vengeance. They promised pain and punishment. The octagon was 30 feet across and Hera was going to make that space feel much smaller.
Diamond recalled the match in a moment; it had been five rounds for a total of 25 minutes, a typical championship match, and she had fought her best. Diamond had landed a few good combinations throughout the fight, had even backed Hera up to the cage wall once, landing some good shots in the clinch. They had traded blows and both wore the strikes of the other as welts, bruises, or blood. Diamond had won round two, outstriking Hera in that round and cutting her peach skin just above one eye. The other four rounds, however, she could not reconcile with the judges’ decision. She had spent much of the 1st and 3rd on her back, struggling not to get caught in Hera’s impressive submissions, and the 4th and 5th rounds had been one-sided lessons in Muay Thai. Diamond’s left eyebrow bore a permanent scar from a particularly devastating head kick.
“Open your hands,” a man in a striped shirt and black pants stated but Diamond didn’t catch the words, looking over her shoulder to the sky box her father was, no doubt, observing from disdainfully.
“Diamond! Your hands!” the referee repeated, more forcefully, bringing her back to the moment. Diamond opened her hands and the ref inspected her nails for length. Flicker Jab had cut them in the back and filed them down so that inadvertent eye pokes didn’t blind her opponent. The ref flipped her hands palm down and back up, checking for loose wrappings, signatures on the blue tape, and feeling the pad across the knuckles for foreign objects such as rings or removed padding before letting go and stepping back.
“Arms out,” the ref called and Diamond followed his instruction, pointing her arms straight out and making a ‘T’ shape. He quickly patted down the sides of her clothing and soft pink skin for objects or grease which were against the rules of MMA. When he reached her bare feet, she felt him check her toenails before standing back up. “Mouthpiece.”
Flicker Jab held the guard for Diamond’s teeth up and she opened her mouth for him to push into place. She could feel the grooves of her teeth slide into their respective imprints within the guard and bit down, reinforcing the piece into place. The ref nodded, stepped away, and motioned to the open cage door.
The crowd continued their raucous banter and Diamond attempted to tune them out. She held her arms out to her trainer, wrapping him in a hug. She was letting him down. She was going to lose because she didn’t deserve to test herself against the best. For over a decade he had given her his trust and knowledge. He had led her from a path of bitterness and spite, showing her an outlet for those angry feelings deep inside. Flicker Jab had treated her with respect for who she was as a person, not because of her family’s wealth.
“You can do this, Diamond. You’re the best I’ve ever seen. Don’t let your head get in the way of your talent,” Flicker whispered into her ear.
Diamond wished she could agree.
Diamond released the embrace silently and stepped up the stairs to the octagon while Flicker Jab, Dempsey Roll, and a cutman provided by the arena went to the blue corner outside of the cage fence. Diamond felt the rubber of the mat grip the soles of her feet as she stepped through the door and into the octagon. She could feel the fire from Hera’s eyes scorching her even without looking at her opponent. She felt small beneath the gaze, worthless.
Diamond hopped back and forth on her toes, keeping her muscles warm and limber, while she waited for the announcer. The octagon held several commission members, one waving her to her corner, standing around to oversee the bout. At the moment, they were ensuring that the combatants did not start prematurely. Also in the ring was the CFC’s announcer, Spruce Buffer. He was wearing what appeared to be a suit made from gaudy, bright carpet, Diamond noticed. Nothing new, he always wore outlandish clothes; it was his gimmick.
A commissioner guided Diamond to her corner, meeting Flicker Jab and Dempsey Roll from her side of the cage. She hadn’t met Hera’s withering stare directly yet and dreaded to see it.
“Diamond,” Flicker said but Diamond was lost in her thoughts, eyes cast up to the glass box. She wondered why her father treated her so poorly, though, deep down, she knew the answer.
She had entered his office as a child once when she had fooled the nanny who watched her morning, noon, and night. A sweet smile only a young girl can grow splayed across her cheeks as she silently shut the big, heavy door of the office. It smelled warm and sticky inside, like tobacco, and she watched Filthy Rich in his luxurious leather chair studded with real gold buttons as he poured himself over a multitude of papers. He paid no attention to her, flipping from page to page of charts, graphs, and reports that she didn’t understand. She vaguely remembered thinking he must be coloring because many of the designs were in a variety of colors.
Silently she watched, stealthily stepping closer. Filthy never looked up and before long Diamond had tiptoed to one of the other two similar chairs across from her father. She peeked from behind the furniture and grinned as Filthy wrote in a ledger. She rarely was afforded time with him and she loved him dearly. Her tiny heart beat rapidly in those occasions that he spoke to her or tussled her hair. He was always so busy… she didn’t quite understand it but it was what she was accustomed to.
She quickly hopped up into one of the chairs and Filthy started, eyes wide in surprise. “Diamond? What are you doing here? Where’s Nanny Fae?”
“I wanted to see you, Daddy. I missed you so much!” Tiny cheeks lifted from the beaming smile on her lips. Her eyes hungrily took in the sight of her father.
“Yes, well… I am very busy, Diamond.” He pressed a button on his desk and a voice answered shortly.
“Yes, sir.” It was his secretary.
“Can you find Nanny Fae? Tell her I pay her to keep Diamond in her lessons or otherwise entertained while I conduct business. If she cannot manage to watch one child, then I do not need her under my employ.” Filthy looked harshly at Diamond and she grimaced. She only wanted to see him.
“I… I want to conduct business too, Daddy. When I grow up, I want to be a great businessman like you!” she blurted out, hoping to impress him. He only laughed to himself.
“A woman? Doing business? Oh, Diamond, you have much to learn.” He sat his ornate pen down and came around to pick her up, escorting her to the door as Nanny Fae suddenly appeared with a scowl from the dressing down she had received from the secretary and was certain to get again from Filthy. “Little girls and women should be seen and not heard, Diamond. Those are lessons you should learn now or you’ll never get a husband to take care of you when you grow up.”
She hadn’t understood what he meant but she gleaned that business wasn’t something he thought she would ever understand.
“Diamond!” Flicker Jab reiterated, a little louder than before, snapping Diamond Tiara from her memories. He looked serious and she wondered how long he had been calling her. Dempsey was there as well, separated from her by the interlocking wire fence of the cage.
“Yeah?”
“Hera starts slow, you know that, but, this time, she’s going to come out blazing. She wants to prove that you didn’t win last match and she’ll be coming hard for you.” Flicker looked over Diamond’s shoulder at Hera and it prompted Diamond to sneak a glance. Hera was hopping from one foot to the other, grinding her fist into the palm of the other hand. God, she looked angry. Diamond quickly refocused on Flicker. “You’ve done a lot of work on countering and she’s not going to think clearly. When she strikes it will be with everything she has. Make her miss, let her burn some energy, and then work those counters. She won’t expect them from you.”
Diamond nodded softly. “Yes, sir.” The mouthpiece felt strange in her mouth, as strange as the gloves on her hands. She felt as if she didn’t belong here. She was just a girl, as her father often said. She couldn’t see him in the tinted windows of the box…
“Diamond. What’s wrong with you? That belt is yours. You earned it! Isn’t this what we’ve trained for? To be the best? To show the world you aren’t just a spoiled little rich girl?” Flicker was verging on yelling now and the words stung Diamond.
“But…,” she started and Spruce Buffer began his announcements. Diamond’s voice was buried under the raspy, thick timbre of the announcer but she could tell Flicker understood what she had said.
“I didn’t earn it.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, fight fans from across Canterlot, this is the main event of the evening!” the crowd broke into a loud cheer as Spruce whipped their excitement to new heights as easily as a baker whipped frosting.
Diamond failed to look Flicker in the eye and turned her back on him despite his calls for her. She fell into her bouncing rhythm and waited for her turn to be announced. Hera’s eyes never blinked, never moved from Diamond. A chill ran through her spine and she breathed hard, panic filling her like an overflowing teacup.
Farnese Hera wore gold Muay Thai trunks, short and loose with a split up each side so that kicks were not hindered by the limitations of the clothing. Her name, like Diamond’s, was similarly stitched up the side. She wore a gold tank top that covered her stomach and chest, tightly contouring to the curves of her body. Her hair was shaved on both sides, revealing the orange of her skin, and a short mohawk of bloody crimson hair stood in spikes across the top of her head where longer, more beautiful hair used to flow. She had not taken losing her belt well ...and Diamond couldn’t blame her.
“Sanctioned by the Canterlot Athletics Commission.” Spruce began his introductions. “Our judges at ringside are Fidget, Ramshackle Riot, and Simmer Sun. When the action begins, our referee in charge of the octagon is Stone Souffle. This bout is sponsored by Rich Industries Brown Ale.” Diamond winced at one of her father’s products sponsoring her fight. Even if Rich industries sponsored almost every event in Canterlot, the crowd would easily draw conclusions about the legitimacy of her skill and the renderings of the judges. Of course, they had a right to after her last bout.
“And now! The moment CFC fans have been waiting for! From the Canterlot Sporting Arena in the heart of Canterlot, Equestria! It’s TIME!!!!” The crowd roared, their cheers and noise nearly shaking the arena. “Five rounds for the undisputed CFC Strawweight Championship!
“Introducing first!” Spruce continued and gestured quickly to Farnese. “Fighting out of the red corner, a mixed martial artist holding a record of 22 wins, 2 losses, standing 5 foot 5 inches and weighing in at 115 pounds… Fighting out of Cloudsdale. Presenting the former CFC Strawweight champion and number one ranked Strawweight, the challenger, Farnese ‘Queen of the Gods’ Hera!”
The crowd exploded, a frenzy of ear-shattering noise fell upon the octagon like a tsunami wave. Hera raised her arms and rotated a small circle before pointing at Diamond and then viciously stabbing her fist towards the floor. It was clear, she was going to render Diamond unconscious in as violent and dominant a win as she could propose.
“And now, introducing the champion! Fighting! Out of the blue corner, a mixed martial artist holding a professional record of 14 wins, no losses. She stands 5 foot 4 inches, weighing in at 115 pounds. Fighting out of Canterlot, presenting the reigning, defending, undisputed CFC Strawweight Champion, ‘Hard as’ Diamond Tiara!”
For as much love as the patrons of the sport praised Hera, they despised Diamond. While a respectable wave of applause came at her name, it was beaten down and crushed by the boos of the majority of the crowd. Many had turned on her, calling her victories into questions after the robbery that exemplified her title. It stung deep down. She had never wanted to achieve the height of her sport in a highly contestable fashion and many of her former fans suspected the worst. Still, she raised one arm and attempted to look the part of a champion. It felt weak and improvised.
Hera moved towards the center of the octagon, passing the lines indicating center control and waited on her side of the referee, Stone Souffle, who stood in the dead center of the mat. She pivoted from toe to toe, eyes locked like a hyena’s jaws on Diamond as she met her in the center. Spruce Buffer reached the microphone around Stone Souffle’s side and held it just below his mouth.
“Ladies,” the ref began, “we went over the rules in the back. Protect yourself at all times, obey my commands at all times. I want you to fight hard but fight clean.”
Diamond couldn’t meet Hera’s dismembering stare for long and found herself looking at Stone. He was gray with a shock of hard, black hair. He was very strict in his refereeing but also very fair. He had reffed several of Diamond’s fights. “If you want to touch gloves, do so at this time.”
Reaching her gloves out for Hera to bump as a show of respect, Diamond found no answer. Hera just shook her head and said, “Daddy won’t buy you a win this time, Tiara. I’m leaving you unconscious in the center of the cage.”
Diamond had no answer and they both stepped back to their respective corners. The microphone had not picked up Hera’s words at that distance and she was grateful for that but she knew by the crowd’s reaction to her that they had already concluded how she had been awarded the title.
“Diamond. Prove them wrong. Show them why you are the champ,” said Flicker Jab. He had seen the subtle defeats in Diamond’s body language, she knew. He’d known her for a long time and was probably the closest man in her life. It was impossible to hide her emotions from him for long. A good coach, he was trying to inspire her.
Diamond fell into her orthodox, right handed, posture: knees bent, one foot ahead of the other with the toes facing forward. Her hands came up, fingers relaxed instead of clenched, one back just under her right eye and the other, her left, lead, hand extended about a foot in front of her face and drooping a little lower than the right.
Across the cage, the Queen of the Gods assumed the typical Muay Thai stance. Orthodox as well, her left leg was her lead leg and only the toes touched the mat, the ball of that foot about two inches higher. Her back leg was planted in order to push off of it and rain powerful kicks, elbows, or punches. Elbows somewhat out to the sides, her forearms came up about two inches over her eyes, one back and touching her eyebrow while the other mimicked Diamond’s lead hand. The Muay Thai stance was more squared, shoulders almost even and facing Diamond.
Stone Souffle, the ref, looked from Diamond to Hera. “Are you ready?” he asked Hera who nodded quickly, matter-of-factly, and then repeated the question to Diamond who bobbed her head lightly in acknowledgement. “Round one. Fight!”