Live And Die By The Sword

That had worked out so well that it was annoying.

Which sounded weird when one first hears that. But for Femi, it was true. That big boot worked too well, much better than the punches he had thrown before all of this. Coming into this battle with this woman, Femi was strictly a boxer. So he was accustomed to using his hands above anything else. And while his power is nothing to scoff at, it was always a curse against someone that wasn't playing by the same rules. In a way, the Nigerian-Irishman had shackled himself, put a handicap that made things a challenge. Which would have been fun, had the person in question didn't knock out two of his men. Instead, it was annoying, a curse that Saif exploited as she danced around his punches before damaging one of the limbs needed to make his style complete.

It took all of that for him to realise he could have pretty much taken the path of least resistance. In the same way, Saif can exploit it, Femi can do the same. Saif had been so accustomed to him punching that she didn't believe he could use his other two limbs, which have been left unscathed. Saif. That was imperative to the success of his kick on Saif, the art of surprise was used when he needed it the most.

Still, Femi felt dumb. If only he could have free himself from the limitations sooner. But you can't cry over spilt milk.

Especially as Saif was left gripping on the ropes to keep her upright. The woman in black was utterly exposed, ripe for the taking. Femi's arms may pack a lot of power, but it wasn't as if his legs aren't trained well. With the way he moved towards Saif in the corner, the muscles shown, from the thigh to the calf. They were muscular, and they do more than sting. As Saif must be cursing herself for thinking his legs were stapled to the floor, Femi saw an opportunity, seeing all kinds of ways to shut her up for good. In this game, you either go hard or go home.

So as the Nigerian-Irishman got closer, he launched his good arm forward, full blast, maximum speed towards Saif's face as she is in the corner. Saif may think that he won't be the one to break her, but she wouldn't think so once his fist breaks her face.

Though she was loath to admit it, Saif had only herself to blame for the current straits she found herself in. Femi was an accomplished, skilled man, a worthy foe, and no one could get to such a position without a well-rounded tool kit. He was not a kickboxer, but that hardly meant he was incapable of such a move. She should have guessed that he would attempt such a thing, sooner or later. Should have looked out for it, and been ready. Yet, here she was, up against the turnbuckle.

A mistake. One she would not be making again, and one she would simply have to deal with.

He was coming. She could feel the canvas quake beneath her feet. See him coming through her tangled hair. Moving towards her like a freight train, and he’d likely be every bit as devastating if he connected with whatever he was going for. It was a dangerous, perilous situation, but she could make it work with the right timing. Not too soon, not too late.

Now.

As Femi threw his haymaker towards her face, a blow that would surely have put her into unconsciousness with ease, Saif came out of the corner in a burst of furious motion. Throwing her head to the side, she avoided the punch by inches, so close that she could feel it flowing through her hair. But it wasn’t enough to just avoid his attack like this. She had to counter.

As Saif moved towards, she raised her arm and shot her elbow into his throat, striking him a vulnerable spot with the combined force of their movement. He was big, he was strong, but he was still human, with all the weaknesses that came with that. Like, say, needing to breathe.

It was a good connection, a definite hit. It was perhaps expected that a boot like Femi’s sends Saif careening towards the ropes. Definitely wasn’t a challenging task to do when she weighed less than half his own weight, soaking wet. Even the best of his blows could send the woman flying. It wasn’t done by his fists, but that would have to do. At this point, he’d take any kind of success, if it meant seeing her suffer. But he still had a chance to rectify it however as he came charging in. The Nigerian-Irishman focused on the task at hand: to take down Saif and get his vengeance for his fallen brothers.

If the big boot had sent Saif to the turnbuckle, the hard, straight punch would plaster her onto it without glue. His one arm was still throbbing in pain after being in that armbar, but Femi still had the other one. And unlike that time when he hit nothing but the ground beneath them, Femi wasn’t going to miss this one. Saif has been dodging for far too long, and with the heavy blows she has taken, there was no way she could pull off any more miracles from underneath that skirt of hers.

But as it turns out, a miracle did come for Saif, at the worst possible time.

Hitting the turnbuckle instead of Saif’s face would have been bad enough, not that it would hurt him given that there is padding between them. The loud boom came from hitting the pad, but he wasn’t the type to be deterred by that. Femi could strike the ground with his bare hands, and he’d still walk off as if nothing was wrong. But a blow to the throat, however? That definitely did the trick.

The jarring pain had Femi back peddling away from the corner, not in the same speed as he came, however. In the world of boxing, there are only a few places that the attacker could go for. The throat isn’t one of them, something that can be crushed with as little as 70-80lbs of force. With the expression he was showing, Femi had never been struck in the throat. Then again, he didn’t think she’d even dodge that punch, but Saif showed that timing is always the most superior aspect in a fight. Something that completely counters his speed and power.

His arms came up for some sort of peekaboo guard. However, it was already ruined by one hand clutching as his throat as he sputters for air. With the windpipe completely collapsing, he was struggling to breathe. Struggling to swallow properly. It was as if something was stuck in his throat and is still there. Now, Femi was starting to realise just how dangerous she could be when she isn’t held down by traditional rules of boxing. This is a fight.

A fight he was utterly unprepared for.

It wouldn’t matter how tough Femi was, how redoubtable a body he had, how many muscles he could bring to bear and how destructive his power was. At the end of the day, the man was still human, and susceptible to all the things that came with such a limiting vessel. He had to eat, he had to drink, and most importantly to Saif’s purposes, he had to breathe.

Her strike made that more difficult. It was precise and powerful, making up for their strength difference by hitting a most vulnerable area. She allowed herself some small relaxation after landing the blow, knowing that she was on a solid path with this. She had to follow it, yes, but the first step was the hardest and that was done.

When she came out of the corner, she moved with a long, bold stride, moving into his dangerous range. She was cautious, even now, knowing that even a jab from him could do tremendous damage. One hand was busy fondling his aching throat, while the other was up in solid defense, dedicating to keeping him protected. This was Femi at his most vulnerable. Backpedaling. But in his shell, there was still safety. She had to find a way around it.

She ducked and moved towards his good arm, hiding in the blidn spot her created. She wasn't there for long, but she didn’t need to be. Her only goal here was to tempt him, to make him panic and worry about her next move.

In the next instant, she juked to the other side and lashed out, shoot her arm as she maneuvered to his side. She formed her hand into a sharp curve and lashed out at the side of his face, attempting to hit him with a quick Tiger Claw.

A strike to the throat of any kind is a highly effective way to incapacitate an attacker. Potent, powerful, and one that can bring efficacious results. However, it isn’t used in most sanctioned matches, especially in boxing. While there are other advantageous targets to go for, such as the liver, a throat punch is looked down upon. Considering the effects, it can bring, one uses it when you are defending your life.

By that same logic, it would make sense as to why Saif went for that attack. Even though she has proven to be capable against him in some moments, Femi is a massive man. Powerful, muscular, well-built, sturdy and seemingly impregnable in his defences. It only took one or two attacks to have Saif in massive trouble, which speaks volumes as to how much power he has inside of that athletic build. But while he has trained his arms and his body, there is one thing he couldn’t train, no matter how much you try: the neck.

If Grant was around, he’d suspect that elbow strike came out when she is at her most desperate. And you can never underestimate someone like that. But it shows how much Saif was willing to go in order to win. One could keep pressuring her when someone’s like that, eventually, they would cave in with enough oppression. However, that was difficult to do so when you got struck in the throat like that.  

So, his first instinct was to back away. Of course, Saif wasn’t going to let him go like that so easily. He hated to be on the defensive but with how he’s feeling, he has no over choice. The Nigerian-Irishman moved back, getting back into a shoddy imitation of his guard. It isn’t much, but it’s something. And he had to rely on his good arm to try to flick jabs at her to keep her at bay. At least see if he could recover somewhat.

Saif isn’t stupid, however. She saw this coming, even as she moved towards the side of his good arm. But in a flash, she moved away to the other side instead, which had Femi struggling to get something out and before he knew it, Saif was right up his side, her hand lashing out for a…

…Scratch?

Completely unexpected, the nails of her fingers raked the side of his face, which had him yelling out, more so in frustration. His eye closed shut as he winced, the blind spot even more so. A kick was something he could deal with. Using something so…catty…was something that didn’t do wonders to his temper. His good arm lashed out as he tried turning towards Saif’s direction, in an effort to land a haymaker on that damn woman. His movements, however, were noticeably slower than before, most likely due to the struck throat. The muscles do need oxygen to function, and he wasn’t getting it like this.

The longer this fight went on, the more Saif could see the areas where Femi was lacking. While he was far from a stupid brute, his emotions seemed to rule him, leading him to make dangerous decisions and throw proper caution to the wind. She had enraged him, clearly, and as their match grew longer, that rage infected him like a cancer. Slowing him down. Distracting him. Playing havoc with his mind. It was clear now, more than ever, that he needed the guiding hand that she could provide. That she needed to calm his raging waters and bring them to tranquility.

Her blow caused him to cry out in pained frustration, a bellicose bellowing that made her ears tingle. He was clearly not sure how to react to this sort of pain, far from his comfortable elements. Confused, aimless, he was trying to process what was happening to him, and lash out at the same time. Meager retaliation, really. Powerful, yes, but nothing beyond that. No speed. No finesse. It was all too easy to avoid.

Saif leaned to the side, letting the blow miss by a few inches and nothing more, not a single worry on her mind. She ducked low and swung around him as the blow carried him forward, and deftly spun about on her heel, turning to face him from behind as her skirt whipped out behind her. For a fleeting, glorious moment, she had his whole back to work with. So many glorious opportunities, and she knew what to target right away.

She leaped towards him - a short skip, nothing more. As she jumped, Saif raised her leg and shot it out, aiming towards the tender spot at the back of his knee. She wanted him to buckle, wanted him down, his base destroyed. It wouldn’t do much on its lonesome, but such an opening could lead the way into many great things, and she found herself eager. So much to teach, so little time.

Clearly, Femi was getting exposed to so many different fighting styles in one night where one would take months to get to this point. Although the Nigerian-Irishman bends his rules a bit to allow a boot, he didn’t truly break them. Arguably, the scratch, or Tiger Claw as one would put it, was entirely out of left field to be considered a legitimate strike. He may not be stupid, but he wasn’t so accepting of this style. But a fighter who’s rigid wouldn’t get so far against someone willing to be adaptable.

That was an outcome to the missing guidance Femi isn’t getting. His power may have been greater than Saif could ever imagine, but it still needed direction and instruction. Grant was the one giving him this, and since he’s not there, Femi was left to his own devices. The Mancunian was able to limit him, corral his temper into a fine weapon. Without him, Femi was uninhabited, wild, untamed, savage. Saif was clearly taking advantage of this feral state, all she had to do was avoid getting hit. Ferocious as he is, a punch from him can still take her down hard.

Femi saw with eyes clouded with hate, blinding him from making sense at all. Attacks in this state would be rendered useless and would be advised to fall back if he could. But he had no choice but to attack, lash out, desperate to hit something and finish this for good—a mindset that could only bring about his downfall. Had Femi been 100%, Saif might not have dodged that one, in his mind. But a wild haymaker would hit nothing but the air itself, Saif dancing around in his blind spot where she found his back.

Before Femi could even realise where she is, he felt the back of his knee struck from behind. A grunt escaped his lips as his knee caved from the kick, falling down onto one knee. Only a flying armbar attempt was the one to bring him down like this before, most low attacks hadn’t been successful then. But now, at this stage, the hulking man was down, breathing heavily like a feral animal, gritting his teeth. All of this still hasn’t done much to quell his fury. That kept burning up inside of him, but it was destroying everything in its blaze. And Femi was just blind to see it.

Was it victory? No.

Was it glorious? Yes.

Saif’s foot crashed against his knee, and he went down with a grunt. It wasn’t much of a noise on its own, but there was a bestial quality to it, inhuman, as if she was reducing him to his deepest state. Amazing, really - in truth, she had hit him very little. But all it took was the right blows in the right spots at the right time to bring a man like him to his knees. Felled by a woman not even half his size. A truly embarrassing display, and it was not about to improve.

The crowd was mixed in their reactions - some cheering Femi on and urging him to rise, others encouraging her as if this were a public execution. She ignored them all and kept her eyes locked on the withering man before her. Standing there, she ran her hands along her hips as she took a careful step along his perimeter, careful to stay out of his rage. A wounded beast was still a beast, was still dangerous, and she kept watch for any wild motions, any attempts to defy her. She seemed hesitant, almost afraid to move in.

In truth, she was far from hesitant. Merely considering. Thinking about her next move. She only needed a couple of seconds before she settled on the proper course.

She darted in fast towards his side, standing right next to him, and raised up one leg while her other foot balanced on the canvas with perfect poise. Grabbing her raised foot by the ankle, she pulled it up, taut, brought it over Femi’s head, and released it for a kick that would chop him on the back of his neck with a quick, powerful, precise blow. A Switchblade Kick - or, as she liked to call it, her Hidden Blade. A way to, hopefully, bring him all the way down, so that they might have a more intimate conversation.

Was Femi annoyed and embarrassed by the mere fact Saif brought him down again? Yes.

Should he get mad about it? Probably not.

Considering Saif’s lack of restrictions on what she can and can’t do in this fight, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that she could bring him down. Stuff like the flying armbar was one way where Femi was taken entirely off guard, though he composed himself to a certain degree to counter. A blow to the back of the leg would bring down anyone, much less a hulking behemoth of a man. Saif was just hitting at the right spots, same thing with Femi striking Saif like that too. There shouldn’t really be any shame that came with it.

And yet, there was. Possibly due to how stubborn he was, the idea that someone as small as Saif bringing him down like that, for the second time was infuriating. It was a disgrace, and it hit hard to his pride as a man. Before he was about to face her, he never imagined such an ignominious scenario like this. Degrading as a champion, of course, the Nigerian-Irishman would be discomfited by this.

Still, the remnants of his pride would keep on swinging. The worst thing to battle is a cornered animal, desperate to defend itself. And if he was to go down, Femi will go down throwing blows. That’s always how he does things, especially in the ring. But that’s a problem when you aren’t hitting anything. It becomes a waste. Of time and energy. Something that was becoming finite to the beast as this goes on.

Femi still hasn’t learned that Saif was still as elusive as before, and his wild swings were far from making her hesitant. A point that Saif would rectify as soon as she moved to his side. For him, he saw the canvas that they stand on. A canvas shared by the fighters of Momentum. A canvas he was going to get a much closer look.

Saif’s foot struck the back of his neck, striking down like the judgement of the gods. Like David taking Goliath’s blade and cutting off his head, Femi fell down to the ground. All the way down. Something that was just as inconceivable to the champion boxer. If there was a referee, he would have started to count him out. But there was no referee. This was far from a boxing match. No, this was something much different.

Saif had never used this before - not in true combat, at any rate. She had developed it and practiced it with Saif, wanting to find the best way to make use of her growing leg strength, how best to use it in their Master’s service. She settled on this move for its efficiency and brutality, a way to deliver exacting blow to one of the opponent’s dearest spots and finish even the hardest enemy. But it had all been speculation before now, never having a truly strong body to work with. The only one she knew of that could handle such damage was her Master, and to strike him would be anathema.

But Femi was a different story. His body was stronger than most, perhaps the most powerful mortal she had been in the presence of, and she knew that, for her blade to do its work, there could be hesitation. Strike true, strike fast, strike hard.

Saif followed her creed and was rewarded with success - the goliath had fallen.

The audience looked on, stunned into mesmerized murmurs as the display before them. The AFW was a place of extremes, where smaller foes could defeat towering opponents, but this seemed to even exceed such standards, and in a place where none had expected.

Saif, for her part, paid them little heed, and instead focused on her quarry. He would not be down forever, she was aware, but this was a rare chance for them to speak, and she would be hard pressed to let such an opportunity slip by.

She walked over to his fallen body, then stepped on it, putting a foot on his spine and moving on from there. A foot on his ribs, and then she stood between his shoulders, all her weight bearing down on him, pinning the massive monster of a man to the floor. She squatted, both so that her position could be solidified and so they could be heard at close range.

”Do you know where you failed, Femi?” She reached down and ran a hand over his head, lovingly caressing it. ”Where you went wrong?”