Free Dirty Fighters by Kyle Adams

I could feel the blood dripping down my face from the cut above my left eyebrow. A reminder I should have ended this match when I had the chance. Earlier I had quickly gotten the upper hand and had Striker pinned face down, my knee applying my full body weight into his lower back. Wrenching his arm back, I could have easily dislocated his shoulder or snapped his forearm. Would have been an easy win from there, but I have reservations about inflicting such damaging injuries just for a quick defeat.
    I was regretting that now since Striker obviously didn't have those same hesitations. I managed to dodge a left hook aimed directly at my jaw. But ended up throwing my face into a strong right hand, connecting just above my left eye. I staggered back, unable to keep my balance, I tried to roll into the fall but the strike had left me dizzy. As I hit the mat, I slammed the left side of my face with the hard surface, splitting my cut open wider.
    I didn't have much time to think about my injuries before Striker was straddling my back, trying to wrap his arm around my neck. I had my chin tucked against my chest preventing him from getting me in a rear naked choke. He tightened his arm on my chest, the pressure forcing the back of my head and neck against his upper body. Before he could get me into the choke, I put my palms flat on the mat and used what adrenaline I had left to push myself up onto my hands and knees.
    Striker kept trying to get me in the hold, putting all his weight on my back. In an attempt to get him off me, I flipped us over. Trying to drive my weight into his stomach as we dropped onto the mat. I hoped the impact would force him to let go. We landed with him on his back, my back to his chest. Instead of letting go, he just constricted his arm tighter around my throat. I needed to make him loosen his grip, I could barely get a breath in at this point, I was scrambling. I frantically brought up my hands, digging my fingers firmly into his forearm. I pulled as hard as I could. He didn't budge. Bastard . Even though I couldn’t move his arm, I was able to keep him from locking the choke in tighter. We both knew he was losing his grip, he couldn't hold the position much longer. That's when I felt Striker wrap his legs around my waist from behind. Crossing his ankles, he squeezed like his fucking life depended on it.
    "Just give up, Cross." Striker grunted, his hot breath in my ear. I tried to shake my head ‘no’ as much as I could with his arm still squeezing tighter around my neck. He must be an idiot, he kept his face near my ear. I used the situation to my advantage by lifting my fist over my right shoulder and connecting squarely with the side of his right eye. He grunted and tightened his arm around my neck. I tried to get another swing to hit him again, but he moved his head out of my reach. I was already dizzy from the blow to my face and slamming my head against the mat earlier. Striker finally locked in the choke, within seconds began to see spots as he cut off the blood flow to my brain. Motherfucker was going to take me down.
    I barely heard the crowd as they started cheering excitedly. I was always able to block out the crowd during a fight. Once every month, I came into The Cage to fight. I rarely lost, which is why those fickle fuckers watching loved it when it looked like I was losing. It was a small crowd, just a handful of guys with aggression issues they needed to release, but they could get loud. Staying focused was getting harder by the second. But Striker knew me in The Cage, we'd been here before. The only way I would submit, the only way to win against me was to beat me unconscious. Striker knew it well; he was one of only three guys from the group to have ever defeated me.
    This was my twenty-sixth match, and fourth against Striker. I won two to one against him but it looked like we were about to be tied. I felt myself begin to slide into unconsciousness. My last thoughts were hoping I woke up