The Day of the Boxeador

          Stripping off his clothing and putting each piece into the upper locker John, removed his dark blue gym bag from the lower shelf and put it on the rubdown table. Mid 30's his physique was that of well maintained or perhaps a genetically predisposed fighter in shape and curve of muscle. His Italian/German background gave him a very strong upper body; a sturdy back and tightly packed abs. The years of boxing honed his neck and upper arms and shoulder area into a very thickly built and broad frame for his wide, but protruding pectorals to be accented with a little dark hair he had on His chest was clustered into a nice copse near the center just above the solar plexus. Sitting down on the lower table provided for stretching out, He began to slowly work his legs into long tight stretches and then would hold it there. He repeated the process for his midsection and his neck by rotating his head in a clockwise and counterclockwise formation. John would think of only one thing before a fight and that was the referee raising his arm in victory. He didn't focus on anything but the actual gloved arm being lifted up. Turning onto his stomach he did a few more leg stretches and slipped into push ups, after 30 reps he alternated first right arm then left. 15 reps on each working up a thin layer of sweat that covered his shoulders and upper back. He didn't see the need in showering now, the bout would commence in about thirty more minutes. Taking out first a pair of black satin long pants, black with a tan stripe down the side, small lightning bolts etched into he fabric. The waistband of these pants was an actual boxing style one red/white/blue bands with a metal fist pin in the buckles center. John had these pants made custom as He first saw them in an action movie and thought the fist emblem would be a tough look to have. He also had them fashion a pair of standard boxing trunks with this very same look. The visual mix of patriotism, power and badass mojo John would tell it that way anyhow. Slipping them on he next removed a pair of black kickboxing style shoes, black with tan bolts along the sides but these were bigger and looked almost airbrushed. John could see the face of Evan Calhoun meeting the side of this right shoe and how it distorted the man's face as it sent his mouth guard sailing off into the unknown. That was the final kick and the knock out blow that put Evan on his back, shut his lids and removed his shiny gold belt. John grinned as he fit the shoes on to his feet. Time to come out and play boys he thought as he removed a pair of well-worn black kickboxing gloves from his gym bag. They both had a lot of Evan Calhoun's face imprinted into them that night as well; one great left hook seemed to want to turn his cheek into a pound of silly putty. John grinned. He liked thinking back on the various chumps he took out. It was good being he. Finding a role of black hand wrapping in his bag he slowly began the meticulous process of putting each knuckle into it's protective clothing. Tonight he was ready to battle and whomever this guy He was taking on was probably aware that James Logan had pulled the old switcheroo. He had as much information about John Marion as John did about this unknown guy. He didn't worry though. They get hit, they go do down and out.. That's how it goes. Spending the last 30 minutes in eyes closed focus on just the raised arm, John let time pass till he heard the buzzer sound and it was time to glove up, robe up and move out into the gym proper.

  Outside of the locker area was the main boxing ring section an old two story wooden construct converted into a gym a few years earlier. They left the second floor balcony in tact reserving it for the higher paying fight fans, just receded enough from the centre ring that they could see the fight as well as the people in the back on the first floor. The dark brown wood made the white canvas of the ring stand out so that it was the only important thing in the room. Well in a way that was the stage for the upcoming action so it was I guess in fact just that. A very well crafted platform of thick cedar wood laid into four evenly divided sections made up its base. They outer platform where the curtain and skirt laid were made of a softer ash wood and the thickness supported the corners well for the placement of turnbuckles. Black cloth skirted the outside while semi white-off white canvas covered the ring padding adorned with an American flag in the centre the style that military soldiers wear on their arms, backward. The ropes weren't red/white/blue individually but a mix of each color across and each turnbuckle had the emblem of the four military branches. The gym owner a former Marine saw this ring in a base Rec centre and had to recreate it. Beyond the ring the first set of tables also dark wood were set up for the judges and the comp box machinery. Then it was round tables that had four chairs facing the ring, four each around the ring then stand like bleachers but not benches, more like movie aisles a lot more comfortable. The dull wood would tend to absorb sound so cheering during fights was often only heard by the first row of fans not as much the actual fighters. There were about 500 seats total and today 450 of them were occupied for the afternoon of kickboxing action. Two fights were on the cards today the first a short 4 round match up between two local guys virtually unknown. The main event which was originally Reste "The Boxeador" Prada vs. James "Lights Out" Logan had been switched up and Reste would now face the former North American Cruiserweight Kickboxing Champion, John "Justice of the Fist" Marion. Many of the kickboxing fans knew this name well and they were excited to see if the veteran would deal with Prada easily. Though only one man entered now through the doors on the right hand side of the fight hall. Wearing a long black and tan satin robe, hood up and shadowboxing as he walked toward the ring. Two men in black and tan jackets accompanied John. When he got to the ring and the blue corner that he would be fighting out of he climbed up onto the curtain and stepped through the ropes. He was about 15 feet toward the rings centre before he removed his hood. John didn't believe in having his name on his robe, it was a strange taboo of his. Once his face was revealed the crowd in attendance began to cheer and chant "Justice, Justice" charging every fiber of his body like a plug to an outlet. Raising his arms he motioned with his gloved hands for the crowd to cheer louder. They all cut short when the doors to the left side of the gym opened and most of the lights on that side of the room went out. Someone gasped.

    Music that was foreign to most of the crowd being primarily Caucasian and locals filled the room now, some might guess it was some sort of sonata but its melody was different from anything anyone had ever heard. This man Reste Prada was very much a mystery to the attendees. They were mostly there to see Logan at first and the 220 expected doubled when word spread that John Marion was his stand in. Marion had a lot of fans due to his decisive power and never letting an opponent lose without being fully lights out was a big crowd pleaser. He was very charismatic as well after the opponent was dealt with moving about the crowd a bit shaking hands and singing gloves if people brought them. A People's Champion. John stopped his showboating and moved back into his corner to stare at he dark area of the gym across from him. Then a single overhead spot light turned on, another in front of it and then another dimmer yet to make a sort of light "red carpet" effect. Two men wearing blue/red satin jackets entered first and stepped to the side. Then a man perhaps 5'10 stepped through the door way adorned in a long white satin robe, blue and red stripes on the arms. The hood hid the face but the upper chest and part of his stomach were visible. John could see the almost iron like quality of the muscles there. White gloves swayed and dipped in a mock display of punching as this man entered the small mahogany arena of sorts. John kept his focus on the cut if the chest. The face shadowed wasn't visible till the man entered the ring and dropped his hood. Here stood "The Boxeador Reste Prada. His symmetric face was a mix of hard-edged curves all beset by two piercing black eyes. Short crew cut style hair and a tight yet wide jaw line were indicators to John this man were going to be a challenge. Steeling even the slightest twinge inside of him that he might be in trouble he keep his eyes locked on this face as they were met with the same intensity. John removed his robe first to reveal a very well built form and cheers now were mostly from the ladies in attendance. Flexing his arms to show of well proportioned baseball like biceps John outright flexed then smirked and look around the room nodding as if to say "Yes see this people, see your Champions body" Prada didn't seem to give a shit about John's build. He removed his own robe to reveal a well built, tightly packed muscular form that was dark in complexion but accented against a thick mat of chestnut brown chest hair that covered his pectorals and edged down into a treasure trail along his stomach. A very artistically etched scorpion tattoo on his right arm looked almost ready to crawl away.  His blue/red kickboxing pants had a thick metal white star for the buckle, much like John's fist this man like flashy gear. Reste met John's eyes as they covered in ring centre. The referee a balding middle aged ex biker type seemed to be speaking to himself as he read the rules and the ring out penalty, any boxer knocked out of the ring twice was Coed was suspended recently in the North American Kickboxing Rules, it was only a single ring out now and you were done. The two men stared at each other and John saw nothing but solid mental focus in this fighters face. This would be a bout on many levels.

John felt the familiar thickness of the black mouth guard sliding in over his lips and he softly allowed his teeth to rest into it tensing his chest by doing butterfly stretches in his corner, shifting his head back and forth to loosen his neck. Usually the first round bell came right off and bam action time but this given fight it seemed to linger. He was just seeing Prada bare a white mouth guard his lips curling when the familiar CLANG!! Of the round bell sounded. Gloves up and crossed 15 feet of canvas as if gliding to meet Prada head on like two rams on a mountain side about to lock horns. Right hands up the two men tapped gloves out of tradition now more then respect and took fighting stance. John didn't waste time moving forward to jab twice to Reste's face only to find air instead, Prada bobbed away and kept in circle pattern but didn't retaliate. John quickly assessed his opponent’s position and did a side kick to catch him, which also missed. Raising his gloves to guard his face John expected a punch to come in but nothing did. Prada just kept circling him. Bearing his mouth guard and pumping his arms John moved into his opponent jab...jab. Missed...right hook.... Prada ducks...left hook...another miss. Prada slid around the incoming blows like a feather till he was just at a 45 degree angle to Marion and then it came, three not two but three rapid jabs to Marion's face SMACK, SMACK, SMACK raising Marion's chin up. John retaliated with a right hook to the body only to meet elbow that blocked it. Second triple jab barrage from Prada struck Marion's face flush. Crack! The sound of thin leather hitting lip nose and brow echoed. Frustrated Marion tried to kick again but it was side stepped and Prada returned only triple Jabs for a third three pointer. The first round was almost a comedy show and the fans were too shocked to see Marion being so easily avoided or blocked only to watch his opponent throw jabs to the face nothing more. This tactic and Prada's poker face didn’t give away anything visibly put off Marion. It wasn't till the near end of round one that Prada suddenly followed up his jab assault with a fast hard reverse kick to Marion's navel. The sucking sound of air leaving past his mouth guard was amplified through the overhead speakers. UFFFFF Marion was stunned by this kick and ate three more jabs before the bell CLANGED!!!! End of Round. Prada returned to his stool not a drop of sweat shone under the gym lights as he sat down in a very relaxed manner. Marion's face a mix of pain and confusion returned to his own corner but he had signs of sweat on his chest and shoulders and even the tips of his cropped black hair. His green eyes drooping a bit and redness mixed with his natural tanned skin over his button nose and cleft chin where Pradas gloves jabbed repeatedly. John never missed an opponent, never missed every single blow or had it blocked. He wasn't done yet as this 6 round match was only going into the 2nd round. John was going to use some new mental tactics and fast. See you on the canvas Prada he thought as the bell rang and his mouth filled with lab made synthetic stiffness.

CLANG!!! Round 2

Almost as if Prada was psychic He was up off his stool and crossing the ring faster then Marion was but when he got into range he didn't throw the first punch. Marion did. A good solid right hook that Pradas arm stopped and deflected to counter punch Marion with a straight right to the button. THWACK!! And Marion’s head jolted enough for sweat to fly off. Pausing slightly then dipping to throw a hard body left hook Marion looked close to landing when Suddenly Prada stepped back and did a standing front kick to Marion's chest THUMP! And landed a quick yet textbook One-Two punch to Marion's chin THWAP! THWAP! Visibly jolting his neck and head. John felt the power now in Pradas fists. He felt the One-Two exit the back of his head as the kinetics sent a nice wave of energy over each and every tooth in his mouth. Throwing out of reflex he should of landed his next temple shot flush but Prada seemed to stop it without moving his eyes, dropping in two hard left hooks to the side of Marion's chest making his pectorals dance. Two hard shots directly into Marion's abs sank the white kickboxing gloves into the tanned yet sturdy flesh. Marion covered his face to just avoid a Pradas punishing axe kick to the face that jolted his black and tan gloves hard enough to make him open them a bit. Marion moved around Prada now out of almost uncertainty as to where the next blow would come from. Marion had never been this out matched. Prada had little or no reason to believe this Champion here was a threat. He was a man already knocked out; he just didn't know it yet. 4 rounds left to punish and degrade this guy. Smirking Prada move forward to land a solid side kick to Marion's breadbasket. He then delivered two hard knees to his sides, and a flurry of at least 6 shots to the body. Marions gloves dropped only to open his face to a powerful uppercut just under the chin. Marion saw the ceiling and then the little blue birds and as his head was in the process of coming back down into level position a power packed spin kick sent red/blue leather against the side of his head. Marion toppled into the ropes first and they shook till he was staggering back. CLANG!!!! End of Round

Prada was now showing a bit of sweating, just a bit mind you. Marion slightly drooling, a lot sweatier and starting to drip fell into his own corner on the stool. His body tensing as if Prada's kicks there had been to vital pressure points a delayed spasm occurring and Marion's mind seemed to be unable to process this through the haze of grogginess. He was in trouble if he didn't start using his counterpunching. John wasn't ready to see this as the end of his chance to win. Fuck that no way it was time to knock this wetback out. He couldn't see his expression betrayed his thoughts and bravado. The people at ringside could see that He was starting to look pretty outclassed here. This was going to be an interesting bout.

CLANG!!! Round 3

John had the gum shield in and the stool removed before he could really sort out that He was up and moving. This time when Prada got within range he was almost outside of himself mentally. Throwing a sharp right-legged front kick that Prada's arm skillfully swatted away, then the next leg and the same thing again. Then reverses kick that Prada caught Marion’s foot in his gloves and shoved him off balance toward the ropes. Stepping in as Marion turned his head to move into stance Prada's right glove crashed like an ocean wave into the side of Marion's jaw. BAM!! Forcing his eyes into a tight wince and spit flew out of his mouth and then a brutal sidekick to the body sent Marion off balance toward the ropes. He threw out of almost sad reflex hoping a good left hook Prada ducked under before bringing his left uppercut, the scorpion's tail as they called this punch of his right up and into Marions solar plexus. A lot of spit flowed out of Marion’s mouth now and his whole body tensed up. WOW The crowd stood up as Prada’s next four head shots worked Marion's face back and forth sending all that fresh spit back and forth and the last shot would be what caused the beginning of a very badly swelled eye. Marion had to be given credit that he remained on his boots and upright He even tried to see through the cobwebs to land a return shot to Prada’s face but alas that had no direction and Prada simply stepped back to watch the punch sail by. Two hard left uppercuts lined now to Marions face and a beauty of a textbook axe kick landed on his right shoulder followed by a leaping reverse kick to the chest and Marion hit the ropes only to go down face first into the canvas. His face met the canvas without support and bounced like a quarter off a marine’s bedroll. The fans went wild now cheering but they were all fans of Prada now, "Boxeador! Boxeador!" The balding referee a former fan of Marions stepped into to start the 10 count. Prada move into the neutral corner and seemed to go into some type of meditative state. Marion towed the line between knocked out and morning coffee alert but shook off the worst of the uppers effects and by some mercy CLANG!!!! Saved by the bell.

Prada walked to his corner and sat down. Smirking faces of his corner men looked like they had seen this before. This was nothing new for the 4 time South American Kickboxing Champion to accomplish. This chump wasn't the first cocky tough guy that Prada took to kickboxing 101. Marion slid onto his stool and his head was like a tilt a whirl at a carnival. The cobwebs thick and the grogginess heavy till the familiar pungency of smelling salts were stuck into his slightly bloody nostrils. He could hear Terry the cut man telling him that his eye was getting bad but the words were far away. He felt the familiar pressure and hard metal of the knot knocker against his right eye. What the fuck was going on. This won’t the way it went down. He was getting his ass handed to him by this Prada fucker. He was getting his face pounded like a hamburger hold the cheese and the real kicker was that he hadn't landed a single punch or kick. The sheer anger of this would only be what kept Marion getting off his stool in hindsight memory. CLANG!!! Marion accepted the mouth guard and stood up, got into defensive stance. Fuck you Prada this is my round he thought. He didn't finish the sentence because the straight right to his mouth did that instead. Prada had almost materialized in front of him and WHAM!! The punch found a home on his lips. Prada admired the expression on Marion face and then connected with such a beauty of a spinning back fist from his powerful left hand that Marion's face turned into a mask of pain as he jerked to face the fans and winced his eyes slowly opening. Three good kicks connected to the side of his torso and a straight right, left right dead to the centre of his chest THUMP, THUMP, THUMP. Marion became the ultimate punching bag a point for Prada. Two hard shots to his stomach doubled him over. A fantastic rising knee strike stood him back up and he was sent into the ropes by a crushing left uppercut, the scorpion’s tail again put his back to the ropes. Marion’s vision turned into a slowed blurry mess of color and sound. His continued punishment at the skilled hands of the handsome Reste "The Boxeador" Prada was lost on him. Punches to the head, the stomach, the chest came next as Prada turned Marion into a workout. Some claim Prada landed 16 shots in a fiery, flurry of fists to the belly that rocked Marion to the point he was drooling. The head strikes, both frontal and spying back fist turned his handsome face into a swollen pumpkin and his right eye that had a thick mouse now was closing. The barrage wasn't even called off by the referee who was almost mesmerized at Prada's mastery. The bodywork was precise and exacting. He knew from some of his navy seal days that Prada wasn't just punching Marion He was hitting key zones to put Marions muscles into a long sagging state for hours to come. The final shot, the one blow that would send Marion between the top and the middle ropes to not only land chest down on the judges wooden table but actually crack it in the process was a running to leaping spin kick that sent Marion's mouth guard, now broken in half flying and a small white tooth with it. Marion was in mid dive when a second blow another scorpions tail hit his chest and sent him not down but through the ropes his body turning 180 degrees as he first hit the table on his side then with his chest and face, head turned to side came to rest inches from the machines and comp box equipment, out cold. The referee who looked down at Marion and whispered, “That was fucking poetry brother”, raised Pravda’s arm and Prada sly smirk revealed he agreed.  The closest Judge to John's limp body moved close to look at him and could see he was definitely breathing but unconscious. Prada was greeted in his corner by his seconds who mussed his hair and hugged him. Looking back at the crowd of people inching closer to Marion and the table he could see a red haired man moving past the crowd with a black leather satchel. A ring doctor had arrived. Reste didn't see the point in remaining so he re-robed and exited the ring. Besides He had to gather a bit more information in Silver Leaf tonight to find the man He was hunting. This kickboxing match was a diversion but a good workout. While exiting the room a lot of the fans on his side of the ring cheered and chanted "Boxeador" as he passed and pushed through the doors to the locker rooms without as much as looking at them or back as the swarm of people attended to the fallen Marion.