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Dara Camacho and Breanna Rhodes stood on opposite sides of the referee. They’d embraced as sisters in combat, but the reality of their competition meant that only one of them could leave as the inaugural NCAA Collegiate Combat Challenge women’s bantamweight champion.

Dara fidgeted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She’d won the first round without question and had almost won the fight then and there, but there were several sayings about ‘almost’ and none of them were flattering. The second round was a tossup, and the third was sort of a dumpster fire, but…she shook her head to dispel the thought, sending a sprinkle of sweat flying from her short blue locks. The UCLA Bruin heart pounded in her chest and she wondered if the referee noticed how tightly she gripped his hand. She’d only gone to decision twice in her career and lost both of them… She just wanted this to be over, but more than anything, she wanted to win.

By contrast, her red clad opponent looked like she was waiting in line at Starbucks. Where Dara held the women’s collegiate record for first round finishes, Breanna Rhodes didn’t care where her wins came from so long as they came frequently. She’d considered shooting for a record of some sort, but all of that came at the expense of the flexibility that made her so dangerous and made MMA so fun. She’d won by decision, by submission, by TKO, so what was left?

A championship.

Neither woman had meant to leave the end of their college careers in the hands of questionably competent judges. Dara had limbs like rubber and a chin made of steel, a gas tank like a drag racer that had gassed herself out in the first. Breanna had decisively controlled the third, but for all she knew one of the judges might have fallen asleep. The women centered themselves, trying to look confident while awaiting the overdue decision. Whatever came next for either combatant, it wouldn’t be collegiate MMA.

“Ladies and gentlemen, after three hard fought rounds of mixed martial arts our judges have rendered a decision.” The announcer’s voice boomed. “Our first judge scored the fight 29-28 for Dara Camacho.” He explained, drawing an annoyed glare from one fighter as the other tensed into a tight ball of nervous hope.

“Our second judge scored the fight 29-28 for Breanna Rhodes” He continued, and both women’s expressions shifted. Dara stared ahead crestfallen, as if rudely awoken from a pleasant dream. Anxiety flooded her heart as she awaited the last score. Breanna’s grimace softened. At least one judge had eyeballs. This might not be a blatant robbery after all.

“The last judge scored the fight 29-27 for your winner by split decision and Women’s Bantamweight champion, Breanna Rhodes!”

When the referee raised her hand, Breanna’s emotions finally pierced the aloof facade she’d worked tirelessly to maintain. She’d done it. She was done. Every moment, every struggle, every challenge had finally paid off. The entire world lay open before her and anything was possible. The rest of the moment seemed to pass by in slow motion: her team embracing her, the last conciliatory hug with Dara and the words they exchanged, and the sublime satisfaction of leaving the cage a winner, a champion, the best.

Description

Previous: www.deviantart.com/cfmech/art/…

Event Home: www.deviantart.com/cfmech/art/…

Dara Camacho and Breanna Rhodes stood on opposite sides of the referee. They’d embraced as sisters in combat, but the reality of their competition meant that only one of them could leave as the inaugural NCAA Collegiate Combat Challenge women’s bantamweight champion.

Dara fidgeted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She’d won the first round without question and had almost won the fight then and there, but there were several sayings about ‘almost’ and none of them were flattering. The second round was a tossup, and the third was sort of a dumpster fire, but…she shook her head to dispel the thought, sending a sprinkle of sweat flying from her short blue locks. The UCLA Bruin heart pounded in her chest and she wondered if the referee noticed how tightly she gripped his hand. She’d only gone to decision twice in her career and lost both of them… She just wanted this to be over, but more than anything, she wanted to win.

By contrast, her red clad opponent looked like she was waiting in line at Starbucks. Where Dara held the women’s collegiate record for first round finishes, Breanna Rhodes didn’t care where her wins came from so long as they came frequently. She’d considered shooting for a record of some sort, but all of that came at the expense of the flexibility that made her so dangerous and made MMA so fun. She’d won by decision, by submission, by TKO, so what was left?

A championship.

Neither woman had meant to leave the end of their college careers in the hands of questionably competent judges. Dara had limbs like rubber and a chin made of steel, a gas tank like a drag racer that had gassed herself out in the first. Breanna had decisively controlled the third, but for all she knew one of the judges might have fallen asleep. The women centered themselves, trying to look confident while awaiting the overdue decision. Whatever came next for either combatant, it wouldn’t be collegiate MMA.

“Ladies and gentlemen, after three hard fought rounds of mixed martial arts our judges have rendered a decision.” The announcer’s voice boomed. “Our first judge scored the fight 29-28 for Dara Camacho.” He explained, drawing an annoyed glare from one fighter as the other tensed into a tight ball of nervous hope.

“Our second judge scored the fight 29-28 for Breanna Rhodes” He continued, and both women’s expressions shifted. Dara stared ahead crestfallen, as if rudely awoken from a pleasant dream. Anxiety flooded her heart as she awaited the last score. Breanna’s grimace softened. At least one judge had eyeballs. This might not be a blatant robbery after all.

“The last judge scored the fight 29-27 for your winner by split decision and Women’s Bantamweight champion, Breanna Rhodes!”

When the referee raised her hand, Breanna’s emotions finally pierced the aloof facade she’d worked tirelessly to maintain. She’d done it. She was done. Every moment, every struggle, every challenge had finally paid off. The entire world lay open before her and anything was possible. The rest of the moment seemed to pass by in slow motion: her team embracing her, the last conciliatory hug with Dara and the words they exchanged, and the sublime satisfaction of leaving the cage a winner, a champion, the best.