I can feel the crowd turn. When this fight started, they hollered for me real good, but it’s all for Blueblood now. They go wild for him when he gets up off of that stool. I’d been fretting some that might happen. My night just got a whole lot harder.
Across the ring from me, he rotates his shoulders and snaps his head from side to side. He’s trying to stay loose, but he’s also saying that he’s feeling alright. He ain’t, but the lie’s important. It lets the crowd think he can win.
Everypony loves an underdog. Blueblood’s smaller than me, so he already looks like a hero just climbing in here. I live in town, though, and he’s some fancy pony from Canterlot, so there wasn’t no love for him at the start. Then he lasted too long. He hit too hard. He started to do what they didn’t reckon was possible, and they couldn’t help but love him. All of a sudden, he’s the hero that shows the little guy can do it after all. It don’t matter that I bought this one a brew last night, or helped that one build his new storefront. Now they want to see this new hero slay the dragon.
Well, I hate to disappoint, but Apples know better than anypony that it’s the dragon that wins most of the time.
Instead of coming straight at each other again, we circle for a bit. The crowd boos that kind of thing in the early rounds, but now they like the way we’re drawing it out. Fighting’s like that. You’re trying to tear each other apart in here, but you also gotta work together to make the fight something that’s worth seeing. Otherwise, nopony’s gonna want to see you again. So Blueblood and I come together in little ways. I back off for a bit, and so does he. He brings the thunder, so I provide a little lightning. Granny Smith always says a good match is really just a story. It’ll have some ebb and flow to it. Some ups and down and twists and turns to make it exciting.
The hollering dies down little by little while we circle. The crowd’s nerves are stretched out. It ain’t gonna take much for them to lose control. In the corner of my eye, I can see Uppercut getting fidgety. Some nights emotions run too hot, and the crowd will riot if things don’t go how they think they oughta.
Blueblood and I both know that Uppercut’s likely right, so we both come in at the same time. He’s testing me with his jab, but I surprise him by bulling into it and landing a hard shot to his ribs. He gambled that I’d start slow, keeping the crowd at the edge of their seats. I ain’t much for gambling, though. He’s won the crowd, so I gotta win the match. I ain’t got no other choice.
Blueblood skips away from my followup swing, and I have to work to make sure my face don’t give me away. He’s moving too good. Looks too fresh. My heart sinks, but I gotta keep it under wraps. Gotta make him think I’m made of iron.
He’s keeping just out of reach now. That’s a good thing for me. He looks like he don’t want to get hit, and that’ll turn the crowd after a while. They hate being wrong more than they like an underdog, so if he’s gonna look weak, they’ll tear him up.
Of course, he ain’t gonna do that. He’s just letting me sweat a little.
Faster than I can believe, Blueblood lunges in and catches me with a glancing shot across the forehead. It don’t hurt none, but it’s action. The crowd jumps to their hooves as my sweat flies up into the air in a fine mist.
The natural thing to do would be to cover up, but I trust Apple Bloom. I gotta lay a trap for this guy, so I start making wrong moves on purpose. He’s already seen me get outta control, so instead of protecting myself, I swing for the fences with this big, slow right. He’s already underneath it by the time it comes around, and I stumble a bit like I wasn’t expecting that. His hoof digs into my ribs, and I give him a big grunt.
In my corner, Apple Bloom gives me a little nod. She knows what I’m up to. Granny’s screaming at me, but Apple Bloom’s good eye slides over to the corner. “Farm him!” she yells, nodding toward the corner twice. That’s all I need.
I swing around until my back’s facing the turnbuckles, then I start throwing out jabs. Blueblood’s cautious. He’s blocking me, but he’s not just rushing in. Looks like I’m gonna have to bait the trap a little better. I hate smart fighters.
I give him a powerful left cross, but I drop my right hoof out of position. It feels real natural, since that’s what Granny’s always on me about. This time’s different, though. I bite down on my mouthpiece just before his hoof catches me flush on the jaw again. I let out a real grunt then, and the world swims around me. My jaw was still hurting something fierce from that knockdown, and he didn’t hold nothing back on that shot.
Another hoof slams into my eye, and I’m backing up. I feel a trickle of blood slide down my cheek, so I turn my head slightly away from Uppercut. It ain’t much, but I can’t risk losing this bout on account of cuts. I pull my head away from a right hook and back up two more steps.
Blueblood’s speed’s increasing now. I try to cover, but he still sneaks one in that makes my head ring. Three or four good punches catch me in the gut. Black spots start in at the edges of my vision, and I can’t see where his hooves are coming from. I just gotta trust Apple Bloom.
Then the world explodes. A white flash tears through my mind, followed by pain. Red’s running down his white chest in these long, thick ropes. Blood fills my nostrils, and my mouth sags open. I’m asking for a broken jaw, but I can’t get air through a busted nose.
Joke’s on me, I reckon. Blueblood finally took the bait, but I’m the one who’s in trouble. Now I’m caught in my own trap when my back hits the turnbuckles. I was gonna use ’em to rest against while I opened up on him, but it’s all I can do to stay upright. He’s taking it to me with hard combinations, and each one of them sends the shattered ends of my broken nose rubbing together.
More hits, and those black spots grow. Gettin’ hard to think. Legs are rubbery. Pain.
“Your back, Big Mac! Remember your back!”
Apple Bloom’s shrill voice cuts through the crowd’s screaming. It slices through the darkness and digs deep into my heart. She wanted me to farm him before. That’s our way of saying that I should trick this guy like our family got fooled into trying to work this thin, rocky soil they got here in Appleloosa. Now she’s given me the other side of that.
My back. Ever since the fever hit, I’ve known it was all on me. It’s my back that supports us. Without it, we lose everything. Each fight keeps us just ahead of the payments. If I can’t make this happen—if I can’t win—we’re finished.
In front of me, Blueblood’s puffing like a steam engine. He’s dipping down, then popping up, using those legs to add power. With each blow, the crowd screams louder. He’s not really landing much, since I’ve turtled up again, but even my strong parts are tired of getting hit now. I honestly can’t take too much more.
But as my head clears up, I realize something. Nopony saw it, but Apple Bloom snuck right into my brain and reset that trap. I didn’t know if I could win before, but it’s real clear now: I’m gonna win because I have to. There ain’t no room for questions. The Apple family’s depending on me, and I’ll die in this ring before I let them down.
The crowd gasps when I catch him off guard with a short, hard left to the muzzle. Everypony but me and Apple Bloom thought I was done for. Good as he is, Blueblood’s body’s telling me the story I really want to hear right now. He’s folding in on himself and backing up. Behind his protective forelegs, his head’s pulled as far away as he can get it.
The crowd don’t know what to do just yet. They kinda want to cheer for me, being hometown and all, but they’d cottoned to the idea of Blueblood being a hero. Now they sound like angry hornets. Just buzzing around out there, looking for somepony’s day to ruin. This is my chance. Blueblood didn’t get the job done, so they’re looking for a reason to toss him aside.
I’d like to plant my hooves real firm, but Blueblood’s still backing up. That takes away some of my power. I pepper him with strong blows to keep him moving. I want him thinking real hard about what it’s gonna mean if he drops them hooves out of that defensive position.
I’m also thinking about how much this looks like the trap I was setting him up for just a bit ago, only the other way around.
Blueblood tries to cut left, but I bang a shot into his ribs. I hear him cough behind those forelegs, and now he ain’t trying to cut angles across the ring. Instead, he takes another step back toward that corner. We’re almost there now, so I send one back to the same spot. It’s hard on the muscles. I gotta haul my leg back and shoot it out again, and I gotta do it mighty quick. Otherwise, he’ll use that hole it creates. It pays off, though. He’s so busy surviving behind those legs that he either didn’t see the opening, or didn’t want to risk it.
I’m dealing with a risk of my own when I open up on him. He could be hurting, or he could be fooling me. Or maybe it’s both. Just like I was a minute ago. Don’t matter now, because I gotta do it anyway. This fight’s been too hard. If it goes the distance, I got a real good chance of losing.
His back hits the corner, and I can finally set my hooves. That’s where an earth pony feels at his best. We like a real strong connection with something solid. Someplace where we can really use our muscles. Leverage. That’s what Apple Bloom calls it. I widen my stance and twist.
The punch lands against the side of Blueblood’s head like a cannonball, and outside the ring, the crowd makes an ugly sound. It ain’t a cheer, and it ain’t booing. It’s the sound of greed and hunger. It’s the low growl wolves make when they’re closing in, only from thousands of throats. I can feel them lean forward, teeth bared, ready to tear the loser apart.
Blueblood’s head snaps around, and his knees give way for just a second. He’s halfway to falling, but he reaches out and grabs the ropes for support. Bad move. It might keep him up, but it means that hoof ain’t there to protect him. I’m in a real good stance now. I can feel the strength in the ground below me, and it feels mighty good. I focus in on the swelling below his right eye and let my hoof rip.
Blueblood was just trying a last ditch attempt to get out of the corner when that hoof catches him. He’d lunged right, but I knock him straight back where he came from, and follow it up with all the speed I can muster. His defense is falling apart. My hooves are getting through more than they’re not, and he’s—
The world rattles for a second when his left catches me on the chin, and I back up a step. I know I shouldn’t, but I check his eye. It looks real red and real, real mad. His hooves are all out of position, and he’s just throwing bombs like crazy. He catches me on the muzzle again, and it’s all I can do to stay up. Now they’re coming fast and hard. Ribs. Shoulders. Head. They’re all taking real bad hits. Granny probably told me what I oughta be doing if this happens, but my brain ain’t working so good right now.
So I do what comes natural: work harder. He’s standing his ground and throwing dynamite. I can do that, too. I can do it better than anypony else. I should be doing something smart, like Apple Bloom would, but his hoof rattles my jaw again, and I just can’t think of nothing. Can’t hear nothing. Can’t barely see nothing between the spots and the swelling. So I work harder. It’s what’s always served me and the family best.
I slide my right hind hoof back and out to the side a little further, then drop my crouch. It feels real solid. Down here, at his level, I can add the power of my legs to what I throw at him. I cock my hoof back and bury it into his chest.
The air explodes oughta his lungs, but it don’t stop him none. Something powerful’s driving this unicorn. I’ve hit him with blows that have ended careers, but he ain’t giving up, and that’s real bad news. It means he’s like me. He ain’t got no choice. He has to win… or else.
So we stand, hoof to hoof, and see who’s got the will. Even now, he’s still moving better than me. I only land maybe one in five blows because his upper body’s in motion all the time. He slips these punches by a hair and just comes right in underneath.
But I got my own advantages here. Standing like this, every time I connect, his whole body trembles. What was once a fearsome snarl’s turning more and more into a grimace of pain. He knows he can’t take much more, and he knows that I know.
Things speed up. He goes high, and I nearly fall when he catches my chin again. I go low, and I hear a rib snap when I ram a hook to the body with all the power I can muster at this point. He comes back with a straight left that blurs the vision in one of my eyes. I catch him with an uppercut. He throws a hard, fast garbage punch that chops down across my cheek bone.
We’re both outta control. Neither of us even aiming any more. We’re just standing here throwing whatever haymakers we got left. I’m wheezing. Air’s real tough to get. The crowd falls away, and it’s just him and me again. Over and over, he catches me, and the ring’s back to feeling slippery. It feels like the mat’s just gonna slide right out from under me.
Gotta take some decent breaths, so I spit out my mouthpiece and lunge in. I take one to my eye, but it don’t matter none. It’s gotta end. I ain’t got another one of these rounds in me. If we go to the fifth, I’m likely done for. My mouth’s hanging open like some rookie, but I’m like to pass out if I don’t get more air. Twisting my body, I cock my right hoof back and let it fly.
Blueblood gasps and stumbles when I catch him in the ribs again. The snapping sound’s a lot louder this time. I want to hang back and use the time to get a little more of my breath back, but I can’t. This is it. If I can’t get the job done right now, the Apple family loses everything we worked so hard for. We lose what my family died to try and keep. What my sister died trying to improve.
He’s leaning to the side now, his left leg pressed firmly over his ribs. I hit it anyway. Then I hit it again. He throws a wild cross, and catches me on the eyebrow. I can feel the blood pouring down my face, but I try to ignore it. Seems like it must be bad, but Uppercut probably ain’t gonna stop the fight at this point. The crowd would tear this place apart.
Blueblood tries to get back into a solid stance, but I slam a hoof through his defenses. It cracks against his eye, and he takes a step backward. He’s off balance and in trouble now. I hop forward to close the distance, then unload.
I think of my dad. Hook to the body. My mom. Cross to the nose. Applejack. Hook to the temple. All the hurt that my family’s been through. All the misery. All the bad times. I let it all flow into these hooves, and I hammer them into this stallion in front of me.
I hear things breaking, but his will ain’t one of them. He’s trying real hard to survive, and that bells gonna ring any second. Every boxer knows that time slows down when you’re fighting, but it feels like this round’s been going for weeks. He throws one or two counterpunches, but there just ain’t much there. He can’t get no air around them busted ribs, and his eyes are so swollen he probably can’t see much of anything. Still, he’s trying to come on.
I forget form. I forget all about training. I crank my right back and let it crash into his head. Then I do it again. And again. And again. My visions almost gone now. The black spots are whirling thick as a swarm of bees, and I feel faint, but I do it over and over and over.
And then Uppercut’s there. He jumps in and waves his hooves over his head. He’s yelling something, but I can’t understand any of what he’s saying. Don’t matter none. It just means the fight’s over.
I’ve won.