“Is that…?” Someone from the crowd started to say, wide eyed with disbelief.
“It couldn’t be…” another said with their mouth hanging open.
“It is!”
“The Gypsy Hound!”
“Isn’t he supposed to be retired?”
More people started to get into an uproar as they all began to recognize the number one gypsy fighter for ten years straight. The only unbeaten and undisputed bare knuckle champion of the gypsy camp known throughout the northern area of the kingdom: Fola, the Gypsy Hound.
Red was now sweating from all the fights he had fought. His arms and legs were sore as well. He had only continued his boxing training just recently, or was it the boxer in his head was who just started back up again? Red’s head hurt from the confusion. Nonetheless, even with his shortness of breath and sore body, he would have to fight.
The boxer in his memories came from a poor upbringing just like Red, forced to fend for himself at an even younger age than Red, so he was used to bad situations. If it wasn’t for the boxer’s coach, he would’ve died homeless and starving, so when another fight became available, he always chose to fight, which meant Red would do the same.
The announcer was finally able to come out of his shock when he turned to Red and saw that the young man was not as springy as he was earlier in the night.
“Hey, boy,” he whispered to Red, “Don’t take this one.”
“What are you talking about?” Red said back to him indignant, “I’m a rooting shooting son of a gun and I’m aiming to fire off at anyone and everyone. I hope your man here brought a friend because he’s going to need some help.”
The announcer responded with a sidelong glance, unconvinced by Red’s bravado since the youth had to stop mid-sentence to catch his breath.
He advised with urgency, “Boy, this isn’t a normal fighter that’s entering the ring. He’s a cut above the rest of the men you’ve fought up to this point.”
Red started throwing punches in the air once again, but clearly his pace had considerably diminished since a few fights ago.
“Well, you should let him know that I’m no slouch neither,” Red managed to say between heavy intakes of breath.
The announcer began to press his concerns further to Red, but stopped when the old man and the Gypsy Hound got into earshot. He still tried his best to look at Red meaningfully, but Red shrugged it off.
“This is the end,” the old man said to both the announcer and Red while grinning maniacally.
The gypsy elder had been pushed to the edge of his mental fortitude at the sight of all his fighters being embarrassed by someone so young and arrogant. He had no choice but to go find the Hound and shower him with promises that the old gypsy wasn't sure he could keep in order to compel the Hound to fight for him once more.
“You got that right, old guy. This is the end,” Red hooted, “The end of this chump you’ve dragged my way.”
A low growl could be heard clearly from the man within the mask of leather and metal. His veined eyes expanded in response to the disdain shown to him. For the Gypsy Hound, this had now become personal.
The old gypsy could see the affect Red’s words had on the Hound and grinned even wider, the gaps in his teeth whistling while his mouth opened.
This will be payback unlike anything seen before in gypsy brawls, the old man thought. There will stories told of this day, especially since I’ll be the one telling them!
“Start the match,” the old man said over his shoulder to the announcer who nodded in regretful compliance.
“The boy doesn’t seem too hot right now,” someone from the crowd analyzed, comparing the state of both fighters in the ring.
“They must have something against the boy if they’re even sending the Hound after him,” remarked another.
“This isn’t right,” another spoke up.
“Hey, you are rewarded for the deeds that you do. If the boy didn’t want this to happen to him, then he shouldn’t have mouthed off as much.”
The crowd was spilt in their feelings towards the upcoming match. But one thing was for sure, they weren’t going anywhere. Each of them more than willing to watch it all play out until the end.
“Good people, hear me!” yelled the announcer, “The boy that has been rampaging through our humble gypsy camp has now run into a wall!”
“You can say that again,” someone said aloud, bringing forth a few laughs.
“The wall that he has run into,” continued the announcer, “Is the quickest and the strongest brawler we gypsies have ever had! That wall is none other than the legend, the myth and the hero of gypsy bareknuckle brawls: Fola the Gypsy Hound!”
The Gypsy Hound let out a roar causing the crowd to go into an uproar alongside him. Chants of “Gypsy Hound” resounded throughout the encampment. Most of those in attendance knew of the Gypsy Hound and had cheered for him during his past brawls. Nearly all were fans of his.
The Hound continued his roar until his throat became hoarse causing a few people to grab at their own throats after witnessing someone brutally abuse their own voice in such a way.
“And of course, the new and bright star that blinds those who are not aware enough to notice his potential and greatness,” the announcer shouted while he shot a glance at the old gypsy standing beside the crowd, “You have seen this rising fighter up to this point beat down all challengers. A young man who grumbles when he can't rumble. Let’s hear it for Red Rumble!”
The crowd was just as loud as they were for the Hound.
The sound of their voices shook the caravans nearby. A young girl was teary eyed as she cheered on Red Rumble, screaming her support at the top of her lungs. There were those who even spat out saliva, trying to cheer as hard as they could. Some were out right, with their hands clasped, praying for Red’s victory.
Many people in attendance were truly inspired by the sight of the young man and the power he demonstrated that allowed him to come out victorious in every contest. The heroic aura forming around Red had truly inspired them.
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The Hound’s eyes seemed to become more maddening as he watched the people, his people that used to adore him like no other, give so much support to an upstart. This contest wasn’t going to be a brawl for him any longer.
He decided in that moment that it would be a mauling.
As the cheers rained down, the masked gypsy caught something out of the corner of his eye approaching him while he was watching the crowd. The young upstart was standing right in front of him. In being announced, Red had moved across the ring, brought their faces mere inches apart, and was staring with determination beyond the Hound’s mask and into the gypsy’s veiny eyes behind it. Both of Red’s arms were raised in the air above his head in a domineering fashion, as if he had already won. Hovering over the shorter Gypsy Hound and staring straight at him, Red smiled.
“You’re in my house,” Red whispered to him, words compelled by the boxer in his head.
The Gypsy Hound could smell the bird and rodent on Red’s breath. The crowd began to grow even louder at Red’s dominant display.
“He isn’t afraid of anyone!” Someone yelled.
“This boy! This boy!” a man kept repeatedly shouting in adulation while pointing vigorously at Red with every word.
“I’m going to marry that boy once he becomes a man,” a woman declared amongst the cacophony.
“Dammit all, I’m betting everything on him!” Another crowd member shouted.
The old gypsy’s mouth became agape at the sight. Red was supposed to be tired and at the end of his rope after so many fights. But still, he showed such a startling amount of resolve. What in the name of the realms kind of creature was this boy?
The announcer felt a fire burning within him seeing Red’s display, but quelled his emotions enough to separate the two fighters and have Red go back to his side of the ring.
The Gypsy Hound could barely contain his desire to strike out at the young man for his disrespect before the announcer made Red back up. Never in his life as a gypsy brawler has he become the person who was looked down on by another brawler, and in front of so many people as well. He did not have to just beat this boy; he had to kill him. There was no other choice. The fury within him and his damaged reputation demanded that he take the boy’s life.
Air filled the announcer’s lungs to the brim before he released it all in a shout, “Begin!”
The hound leapt forward towards Red with all the effort his muscles could manage. His speed was unlike any other brawler Red had faced thus far, speed that even surpassed his own.
This might be a little more trouble than I was expecting, Red thought.
He turned his body more sideways than his usual stance and created what the memories in his head called, “The Philly Shell”.
The Philly Shell was a boxing stance that positioned the body into a more sideways stance, leaving less of the upper torso for the opposing boxer to hit. The lead arm would lower to protect the body more effectively while remaining flexible enough to protect the head at a moment's notice. The dominant hand stayed stuck to the face, keeping a guard over one side of the head at all times.
The champion gypsy brawler began his assault.
An open-palmed hand swiped upward. Red easily blocked it with his leading arm's shoulder. Another came from the opposite side, where Red's guard was already up, allowing him to effortlessly block that attack as well. The only thing that bothered Red about the Hound's strikes was that they had far more power than the other gypsies he had fought.
Bruises began to well up where the hits landed.
What destructive strength, Red thought.
The attacks kept coming at Red, each one deflected by Red's skillful defense, but Red could feel the damage spreading around his body. He wanted to use his footwork to create space, but he needed to conserve stamina for the rest of the fight.
Moving in quick succession would only tire him out.
Every boxer times their opponent and learns their rhythm to some extent. If the boxer timed the rhythm correctly, openings would appear that allowed them to land a counter. Many other forms of fighting used the same strategy. If a swordsman sees their opponent striking from above and has already felt the same attack, they can predict when it will land, giving them a window of attack.
The timing of the Hound was entered into Red's mind with help from his boxer memories, which was when he launched his counterattack. The Hound struck out with a looping palm strike, which Red rolled off his shoulder before returning with an uppercut that landed cleanly. Another strike came from underneath, and Red countered the gypsy champion's attack with an overhand punch that flew in an arch and landed cleanly on the Hound's jawline.
Every attack thrown met a counter, while nothing landed in the Hound's favor. After a few more counters rocked him, the Hound backed away, spitting blood onto the dirt as he repositioned himself elsewhere on the ring.
The crowd murmured anxiously as they saw the champion's blood and how much of it was spilling.
Even laypeople could see that Red had effectively blocked every attack thrown at him while also landing his own strikes. Now that the hound was spitting blood, they felt like this match had become one-sided.
The Gypsy Hound started to laugh loudly with his horse voice. “I see,” he cackled, “The manager didn’t bring me out here for nothing!”
Before the Hound could finish his rant, Red attacked him, staying low and pressing his fists against his chin. He was going for the peek-a-boo boxing style, in which the boxer moves their head in a pendulum-like motion, keeping their head a moving target while keeping their guard tight in case a stray punch landed.
Weaving back and forth to gain momentum, Red started to gather power.
The Hound tried to flee when the young upstart approached, but he was quickly caught. Red moved in with a punch that carried with it his constant momentum. The Hound managed to raise his arms up to protect his face in time to block the blow, but, to his chagrin, the punch hit hard enough to blow away his guard. At that moment, another swing was coming from the other direction toward his exposed head.
What?! The gyspy champion thought befuddled.
The Hound struggled to understand how a boxer's technique could split someone’s guard in a just a half a second while already following up with another shot. Before he could think up of way to defend himself, he was blasted with a punch.
His body flew backwards from the blow, blood shooting from his nose and mouth as he fell towards the ground like an old sack of clothes. Red became sure the end of the match neared, but to confirm his certainty, he continued rushing the Hound in order to connect with more punches, searching to knock out the gypsy champion.
As he started to close out the show, Red saw that as soon as the Hound hit the floor, the gypsy rolled over to all fours, causing Red’s punch to miss. Still carrying momentum and remaining balanced, Red rocked away from the way his punch was carrying him and put the momentum into his other hand to bring forth an uppercut.
Still on all fours, the Hound moved like an animal and dodged again, but this time not too far back; he needed to be close to a part of Red's body he'd been targeting. Red, still rocking back and forth with his peek-a-boo style, moved again to launch another punch, but the Hound had gotten too close, forcing Red to shift backward into an opposite stance to create distance.
In boxing, "shifting" is when a boxer changes stances, going from the stance they usually use into the opposite stance. Those who lead with their left will shift back into a right-led stance, and visa versa for those using their right to lead.
Red tried to retreat by shifting quickly away, but he was too slow, and the Hound managed to grab one of his legs, the part of Red's body he had been eyeing. Lifting with all his power, the Hound launched Red over his head and threw Red behind him onto the ground.
After landing in a cloud of dust, Red attempted to scramble to his feet, but the hound did not relent. Before Red could stand up again, the gypsy champion pounced on his body. The two fighters collided and fell to the ground. After a chaotic scramble, the hound came out on top, able to gain advantageous position, and while sitting on the top of Red’s chest, he started to rain down blows.
“There it is! The attack the Hound is known for!” shouted an audience member.
“Here comes the ravenous Hound!” said a fan of the Hound’s, eager to see his hero shine bright once more.
Tangled in limbs, Red couldn’t stand back up, and with the continuous blows coming down on him, it seemed impossible.
Red's boxer memories were of someone who came from a bad neighborhood, and in such environment, the boxer learned how to fight dirty. Influenced by the memories, Red moved his head backwards as far as he could, then moved it rapidly forward to land a headbutt on the Hound, but the blow completely missed. The Hound was no stranger to fighting dirty. He did not hold the title of champion for ten years by being moral. The gypsy champion moved his head out of the way of Red's attack and returned with his own headbutt on Red's forehead.
Red's ears began to ring, and the world around him began to fade into shades of hazy colors. The sound of cackling entered Red’s dazed head. The Hound was laughing as he started head-butting Red repeatedly, sometimes swiping down with open palms, but the headbutts were the main course.
This isn’t good, Red began thinking, I think I'm about to black out.