Théo took a deep breath as he approached his opponent, and without reservation launched himself into a quick succession of blows to try to catch the older man off guard. His fists flew in his fury, the scent of the blood and sweat in the air filling his nostrils and making it all the more real that this could end with the long-awaited death of Parsons. Or himself.
Before Théo knew it Johnathan switched from the defensive, driving Théo back with blows that held more power than he’d been expecting. The Frenchman tucked his elbows in to attempt to protect his ribs as Johnathan landed a solid blow, sucking the oxygen from his lungs. A sharp crack echoed from one of the blows to his rib cage, and a very sharp stab of pain streaked across his chest as he struggled to regain his breath. He continue to play defensive, the blows deflecting off his arms when possible until he could regain the ability to fucking breathe. Once the diaphragm in his body surged open, and the sweet release of oxygen flooded through him, Théo figure it was time to get serious. The two continued to trade blows, moving around the ring and each other, each caught up in the dance of violence that men thrived on. When the moment presented itself, the taller of the two men seized it.
With a combination of moves taught to him by Oliver, Théo caught the Johnathan’s arm by the wrist when he’d thrown his next punch. Seizing the man’s elbow with his left hand, the frenchman stepped to the right of his opponent and Johnathan’s wrist back, and his elbow up.
The move forced the older man backwards as Théo attempted to force him off his feet- but Johnathan was much more experienced, and faster, than Théo had anticipated. While his grip on the man’s arm was firm, it also left exposed his own rib cage- something that was not missed by Johnathan. Parsons delivered several fast, and hard, blows to Théo’s ribcage until the he had no choice but to let go or risk his chest cavity collapsing. Forced to defend himself, Théo saw an opportunity and took it. He placed his foot firmly on Johnathan’s knee, and shoved with as much strength as he could muster, pushing the knee cap not only backwards, but inwards, at an angle it was certainly not made to move in.
The result was instantaneous.
A sickening pop echoed, and the crowd groaned, as Johnathan’s knee bent out backwards, hyperextending far beyond its normal limits. Following it up quickly, Théo landed a solid, crushing hammer-first strike to Johnathan’s nose and felt the cartilage give way beneath his hand. His final blow was nothing more than an open-palmed strike to the center of the brit’s chest, while stepping on his left foot. The blow pushed him off balance, and backwards, leaving him with only his mangled leg to catch his fall.
Johnathan felt the increased adrenaline pump through his body as the two continued to exchange blow after blow, hoping to find the other tired first, allowing for one to move in for a closer, and deadlier, kill.
Parsons felt he had gained the advantage after the few blows he managed to impact against the Frenchman’s chest and side, feeling the crackling release of the ribs protecting his vital organs. The feeling of success overwhelmed him, knowing that he had weakened Chaussard, but what he didn’t expect from him was how fast he was willing to fight back after the mighty blow.
Johnathan was partly amazed when the young man started going back on the offensive as he saw Chaussard getting closer to him again. The Frenchman grabbed onto Parsons’ elbow, and unsure of what the Commandant planned to do, he decided to start throwing back as many blows again with his fists and feet as he could, only hoping to push back the whirlwind that had grabbed a hold of him. Nothing had prevailed. The force of Chaussard grabbing onto him had forced Johnathan back, which did not put him in a good position while on the defensive. The strength and resilience that Théo held after the brutal hay-maker and straight punches to the chest surprised Johnathan, earlier believing that the Frenchmen would at least stagger back after the blows, allowing Johnathan to go in again for the final offensive, but that was not the case at all.
For what felt like minutes, Parsons was trying to defend himself as best he could while trying to escape from Théo’s grip on him. Whatever fancy shit the Frenchman decided to use here was not enthusing the Rutherford at all. He had grown tired of the young man’s trickery, and decided to find any way out possible. And just like that, he saw his exit. While Chaussard was busy controlling Johnathan through the Frenchman’s grip on his elbow, he decided to aim back at Théo’s chest and the side of his ribs, hoping to further crush and dent the already broken bones.
The strategy appeared to work at first, but Johnathan caught Théo looking down at Parsons’ legs in the desperate way that the Rutherford knew all too well.
Without time to react or defend himself in anyway, Parsons took a merciless blow to the knee as he felt the knee cap pop out and be forced deeper into the crevice of the bone and cartilage that lied beneath it. The pain was agonizing as the man’s leg bent out in a way that no one’s should ever be. And to make things worse, the power of the attack had forced Johnathan to lean back and only be supported by the now practically broken leg, the pain even more excruciating as he felt the bone crackle and crunch between his femur and knee cap, lodged so tight in a place unimaginable as to how it even got there.
There was no stop to the agony that started to blind him with nothing but absolute rage from the pain. He started to see red all around him from the blown blood vessels in his eyes, while he could see the Frenchman coming in again for a second mighty strike. Parsons was too distracted by the convulsing muscles in his broken leg that he forgot to protect his face as he saw Théo’s fist rush into his face and break his nose. The cartilage and bone gave way and formed a large open gash that now leaked with blood.
The pain was becoming too much with the leg, and he knew he wasn’t going to make it unless he forced himself to fight through it.
He looked back at Théo, seeing the man’s face, and instantly remembered another face. The face of Jai was now stained across the audience around them. The memory before the match came flooding back in, and the Rutherford was ready to strike. If he was going to die here, he wasn’t going to without taking the bloody Frenchman with him. And so, he took what was left of his strength and anger, and aimed it right back at Chaussard. The more he convinced himself that Jai’s death was Théo’s fault, the better he could manage, the more rage was built up inside him, and therefore, the greater amount of power he was willing to use against the little cunt.
In the Rutherford’s rage and pain fueled-frenzy, he kept seeing flashes of Jai’s mangled body lying on the floor beneath him, and Chaussard standing right over it. It was enough... it had to be enough.
Alright, let’s end this...
Parsons suddenly screamed what may have been some kind of war cry or just a pure reaction to the amount of pain that he felt as he forced his bum leg to drag forward. He had waited for Théo to come in close again, as Parsons was in no shape at all to be moving around too much. Just the mere drag of his leg closer to his opponent made him feel less sure if it was going to snap off all together, then he would REALLY be in trouble.
He waited for what felt like a second, and then his moment came. As the Frenchman lunged forward to try and finish him off, Parsons pushed the flying fist out of his way with one single side motion of his hand, and at the same time grabbing the man’s wrist and bending it forward. When the other fist came flying at him with such speed and intensity, Johnathan decided to use the already locked arm to his advantage. He bent down, feeling the intensity of the pain in his leg burst with the motion, and pulled Théo’s arm with him, forcing the Frenchman to bend down toward Parsons, with the previous fist missing its target entirely. Parsons saw his next move and with a shattering scream of agony as he lifted himself back up to both his feet, he rammed the top of his skull into the bottom of Chaussard’s jaw.
Parsons did not waist any time to send a second blow toward his opponent. With the previous attack leaving just enough distraction for him to get closer, he caught the Frenchman off guard as he threw one straight punch to the man’s gut, forcing the air to be kicked out again, and with the Commandant bowing near him from the assault, Johnathan took all the force that was left in his body, all the rage, all the pain, and all the vengeance, and decided to grab the Frenchman’s neck and force his head down as Parsons brought his good knee up and slammed it into his opponents face.
The blow was severe, but he felt that it wasn’t enough. If he was going to finish this, he was going to make sure it was permanent.
The Rutherford, blind with a mix of pain and anger, pulled back his arm while grabbing onto Chaussard’s throat, and rushed his fist into the man’s pretty little face. The result was more beautiful than he could have imagined.
Johnathan stared at Théo’s staggering body as the Frenchman leaned backwards, and fell right onto the corner post that was nearest to him. The thick, wooden post with its pointed tip smashed into Chaussard’s head, piercing into his temple, and causing an overwhelming amount of blunt force trauma to the rest of his skull. The Frenchman’s body slumped down from the post and slammed against the pit’s floor. The crowd was so silent that a needle could be heard dropped on the floor. There was nothing more left to warrant than a lifeless body that lied before the Rutherford.
Parsons made the mistake of letting him go once, allowing him to live. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. And if the little cunt did pull through, Johnathan would be waiting for him, eager to end his pathetic waste of existence.
The pain returned as the fight finally drew to its close, and Johnathan hobbled his way over to the ring’s railing where he grabbed onto it tight. The feeling in his broken leg had never left, and he was worried it would never be the same again, but at least he knew that he was finally able to beat the living shit out of the still body that bled on the floor.
He exited the ring with help from one of the security and looked back one last time at Théo’s body lying on the floor, as still as a rock.
For Jai, you fucking piece of shit.
